Black Out Days
by rissawolf95
Summary: As the Head of the Department of Pandoran Relations, the welfare of the planet hinged upon your efforts of keeping peace. Handsome Jack noticed your success. His methods were bloody and violent; the opposite of your diplomatic approach. For the sake of Pandora, cooperation was crucial. Could Jack ease up on the reins, or would he destroy everything? Handsome Jack/femReader
1. Black Out Days

"Hide the sun;

I will leave your face out of my mind.

You should save your eyes.

A thousand voices howling in my head;

Speak in tongues.

I don't even recognize your face.

Mirror on the wall,

Tell me all the ways to stay away..."

Black Out Days by Phantogram


	2. Chapter One

***Disclaimer: I don't own Borderlands. This is purely fanfiction, that goes without saying.**

 **Content Warning: Adult language, sexual situations, sexual harassment/assault, and violence.**

 **This is a femReader story, if you don't identify as female, I'm sorry. Feel free to self-insert, anyway, if you wish. Thank you for choosing my story. There aren't enough reader-insert stories here so I decided to write one. Making it up as I go along, for fun. With that said, enjoy :)***

Dust stirred lightly around your durable rakk-hide boots as you materialized in the outlying town of Overlook. A simple name for a place stationed atop a hill, where the Highlands could be seen in all their thresher-and-stalker-infested glory.

Squinting in the midday sun, you turned to get a thorough look at your surroundings. Not a soul emerged to welcome you. Nobody pelted you with rocks, either. Optimism.

Rumor had it most of the population was bedridden with some mysterious illness. That was only part of the problem; they were discouraged from leaving their homes, regardless of their health. Perhaps that was because of the ninety-nine percent chance of being mauled by the wildlife. Or, because of their close proximity to a Hyperion outpost. Loader Bots patrolled nearby, monitoring the activity of the townsfolk and armed to neutralize any bandit who dared to get close.

With a sigh, you pulled out your trusty notebook and favorite pen. Most people used ECHO logs to record audio notes; you preferred the feel of paper and ink when organizing your thoughts. It was almost therapeutic and kept you grounded. With a displeased pout, you flipped to the page labeled Overlook: Conditions and Relations. Carefully, you wrote down the first few things that caught your attention, keeping it concise.High risk of maulings. Confined to homes. Prisoners? Strange illness. Fatal?

"Happy birthday!" a familiar voice spoke through your ECHO communication device, startling you from perturbed thoughts. A smile crept up your face.

"It's not my birthday, Henry," you responded, rolling your eyes slightly at his silliness.

"Yeah well, what else should I say? It's the anniversary ofyourgreat idea. Seriously, Y/n, you should be up here celebrating with the rest of us. If anyone deserves a little R-and-R, it's you. The Head of the Department of Pandoran Relations should be the one leading the toast to our success! And man, wasthata mouthful."

Henry was your colleague, but first and foremost, your best friend. He was the Manager of Hyperion Intelligence and Resources; basically, the one who made all your humanitarian efforts possible. Without his resourcefulness and connections, your ambitious ideas would never have lifted off the ground.

"Please. Without you, I'd still be some asshole's personal coffee-maker," you countered, unable to take that much credit.

"You're right. I'm pretty awesome," Henry gloated, and you could just see him posing like some hot shot.

"Don't forget modest," you joked back, smirking to yourself.

Henry laughed giddily; he was just a little tipsy. "Really though, Y/n, get your butt up here. It feels wrong hogging all the glory, drinking booze, while you're down _there_."

Sighing, you looked skyward. The watchful blue eye of the gleaming station, Helios, reminded you of the responsibility you had over the lives beneath its scrutiny. Nothing would please you more than enjoying a few drinks with Henry and your colleagues (whom you refused to think of as underlings, despite the fact you were their boss). Nothing,exceptfulfilling the oath you had taken the moment you officially founded the Department of Pandoran Relations. The welfare of the planet hinged upon your tireless efforts at maintaining peace and contentment, among Hyperion-ruled populations.

At that moment in time, Overlook required your undivided attention. The anniversary would be meaningless if you allowed one more person to die from a perfectly treatable illness. Your first priority was to acquire every bit of information you could.

"Enjoy the party, Henry. For the both of us," you told him. It was a friendly way of letting him know you weren't going to show up. It made you sad, declining the chance to reminisce with your friend. It had been months since the two of you had time to actually get together as friends. As of late, things had been strictly business. While you were still very much friends, it sucked not being able to bond.

With an audible sigh, Henry was otherwise silent for a few seconds. Then he said, "Watch your back, for the both of us."

The ECHO cut off. Out of habit, you glanced over your shoulder, knowing it was unwise to be going alone. Henry usually accompanied you during these harrowing trips to Pandora, but you snuck off without him because you wanted to fly solo. To be honest, you purposely avoided the anniversary celebration. The reason: you felt uncomfortable being in the spotlight. Having all that praise showered upon you just felt weird. Yes, you were the Head of the department, but that was its own reward.

Inhaling the humid desert air, you composed yourself before setting your sights on the Holy Spirits pub.

The moment you opened the first door, you were assaulted by the stench of stale beer, body odor, and urine. Some guy was passed out in the small entry-way room, possibly the source of said stench. Wrinkling your nose, you flipped open your notebook.Poor hygiene. Health code violation. Send more soap.

Stepping over his limp arm, you tried not to disturb him. Without warning, his hand caught your ankle in a bruising grip, like you had activated a spring trap.

"What'r'you doin' 'ere, Hyperion skank?" the hostile man slurred, glaring up at you as he kept a vice grip on your leg.

These situations called for poise and composure, to avoid escalating things. You remained still, making eye contact as you said, "Please let go of me. I'm here to help."

"Help?" he repeated with a scornful snort. "Yeah, an' my name's Han'some Jack!"

You were one hundred percent sure he wasn't Handsome Jack.

"Sir, I would appreciate if you let go," you tried again, while on the inside you wanted to kick him. Being manhandled was something that really got on your nerves. The way he was looking at you made you glad you opted for pants instead of a skirt.

"I'd 'preciate if you had less clothes on!" he sneered back.What a pig.

Repulsed, you attempted to kick him off but he held tight. When you were off balance, he took advantage, yanking your leg and causing you to fall on top of him. Mortified, you immediately planted your hands on the floor and tried to push yourself up, but his arm secured around your lower back, holding you captive.

"Get your hands off me!" you hissed furiously, recoiling from the foul smell of his breath.

"Why? You ain't 'ave nowhere important to be, you's a woman," he sniggered.

Everything about this man triggered your gag reflex. His grubby hand was clumsily searching for a way to remove your belt. Of all the things you anticipated happening, being groped by a disgusting drunk had not crossed your mind.

"I said let go!"

Glass smashed against the wall overhead, startling both you and the man. He released you and you rolled away, retreating as far as you could until you pressed against the wall. The door to the main floor of the pub had opened and someone stood there, holding the end of the smashed bottle.

"Dave, get your ass outta here, 'fore I slice off your dangly bits!"

The voice belonged to a woman. When you recovered enough to process things more clearly, you studied her. The first thing that stood out were the bright orange goggles secured to her face, contrasting with the mint green shade of her lipstick. Her rusty-brown hair was cropped short, with an odd pattern on the side of her head. The pattern was a scar, though you had no idea what caused it.

The drunk, Dave, grumbled something misogynistic under his breath as he hauled himself up. When he was on his feet, the woman delivered a swift kick to his ass. He staggered forward and out the door; there was angry, garbled language outside, but he valued his dangly bits enough not to come back.

Hands on her pronounced hips, the woman was looking at you.

"The hell is Hyperion doin' sendin' you here?" she questioned after a moment of silence.

"Oh, uhm, I..." you were hard pressed for words after what had just happened. Realization dawned that you were still sitting on the floor. Cheeks burning, you collected yourself and found your notebook, clutching it to your chest. The woman watched you the whole time, tilting her head as her brow furrowed over her goggles.

"Sorry 'bout Dave. He's the resident dickhead."

"It's fine," you assured her quickly. "Nothing I haven't dealt with before."

"Uh huh," she mused skeptically, arms folded as she inspected your ruffled state. While it was difficult to read her emotions since her eyes were hidden, you could tell she was unimpressed. "Tell me why you're here, Hyperion."

Well then, straight to business. Managing to get ahold of yourself, you smoothed your hair before answering. "My name is Y/n, Head of the Department of Pandoran Relations. I'm here to ask a few questions. I take all complaints and requests, to find out what you need to make living conditions more bearable."

"Oh, how sweet of ol' Jack to ask us how we feel 'bout gettin' pissed on!"

Her resentment was understandable. It was nothing you were unprepared for. You knew how to smooth things over.

"Who said anything about Jack? He has no direct involvement in my department. I'm here because I want to help," you informed her with a genuine smile, hoping none of that sounded rehearsed. It was difficult to convince people you could be trusted, while you wore the weathered yellow jacket labeled Hyperion.

The woman eyed you critically, surely giving you the once-over. "Hold on..."

She approached you slowly, as if worried you would cower like a cornered skag pup. Reaching out, she gently grasped your arm with both gloved hands and pushed up your jacket sleeve. The scar on the top side of your forearm was exposed, and the woman laughed as she recognized it.

"Oh, Y/n! You're the one who wandered into that bandit camp, like some lost puppy, and actually got 'em to like you!" Tickled by the revelation, she released your arm and placed her hand on your shoulder instead; a gesture of companionship.

"C'mon in, Y/n," she said, half-escorting, half-dragging you into the pub. "Someone get 'er a drink!" she shouted to the bartender, before tugging you toward an empty table. Urging you to sit, she slid into a chair across the table from you.

"Ol' Stumpy Joel tried to initiate you into his clan, huh? Bet that made you feel tingly inside," she joked.

"Yeah, that was me," you confirmed with a nervous laugh, tugging your sleeve back over the jagged scar.

That particular incident was one of your strangest success stories. Last year, you had traveled to The Dust. The bandit leader had actually listened to your speech, and agreed to stop pillaging if Hyperion sent his clan supply drops of food. As a show of his trust and respect, he tried to chop off your left arm. Every last one of his clan members had been initiated that way. They weren't called the One Armed Bandits just because it sounded cool.

It would've been hilarious, if you weren't literally scarred for life. Luckily, Henry had been there to stop the initiation. Thanks to his quick thinking and silver tongue, you got to keep your arm, and the bandit leader wasn't offended. Everyone was happy—well, except for Joel's pet skag. It liked to eat the severed arms.

"Name's Frigg," the woman introduced herself officially, removing her goggles to reveal stunning grey eyes. Extending a gloved hand over the table, she invited you to shake it.

Other patrons were looking your way; a few scowled, but most regarded you curiously. Doing your best not to blush like an idiot, you glanced down at the pen and notebook on your lap. Your initiative.

"Nice to meet you," you smiled back at Frigg, shaking her hand. "And, uhm, thanks for...back there."

Frigg released your hand and waved as if shooing a fly. "Don't mention it. I _live_ to kick Dave in the ass!" she said with a devious grin.

Clearing your throat softly, you were eager to talk about anything else other than that filth. Placing your notebook on the table, you positioned your pen; Frigg noticed your old fashioned methods and smiled, but didn't comment. "So, tell me how things are going in Overlook. People are ill?"

"Some of us got the skull shivers, thanks to all Jack's drillin'," she said, the disdain clear in her mannerisms. "We need medicine. Jack damn well knows it. But have at it, Y/n...maybeyoucan convince him to give a shit 'bout us."

Frigg scoffed after she said that last. The deep gulp from her beer mug conveyed just how hopeful she was.

Skull shivers...That was something you hadn't heard of before. Frowning, you were very diligent in your note-taking as Frigg explained the symptoms they knew of. The extent of their understanding only consisted of visual signs and patient complaints. Evidently, it was a degenerative brain disease. The end result was always the same; death.

Deeply troubled, you thought back to how the people were confined to their sub-standard living quarters. Those people were slowly wasting away; their homes were more like tombs. Unless you could convince the right people to send medicine, they would suffer until their brains rotted.

Somehow, the subject had changed from skull shivers to Hyperion soldiers making asses of themselves around Overlook. Apparently, they rarely paid for their drinks and trashed the place. Although you loathed to hear it, you also felt a warmth in your chest. Frigg trusted you. Not many Pandorans would confide in a Hyperion employee.

After a rather passionate rant, Frigg had fallen silent. You glanced up from your notes. Her grey eyes reminded you of the sky during a lightning storm; bleak yet electrified.

"Anything else I should know?" you prompted, curious about what troubled her mind.

"It's a lost cause, y'know," she said quietly, before taking a forlorn swig from her mug.

"Sorry?" you questioned, confused as to what she meant.

Setting her mug down, she rolled her eyes and leveled them at you like she had to break bad news to a naive child. "Y/n, word gets 'round. Jack's gonna wipe us all out, if he gets his way. To him, we're all bandit scum."

Being an employee of Hyperion, and therefore, at the command and disposal of Handsome Jack, it wasn't your place to question him. With that said, you had your...opinionsabout his ruthlessly cruel methods. In his own words, "the only good bandit is a dead one." That never sat right with you, knowing the history of Pandora. Thetruehistory, not the egocentric propaganda enforced by Jack.

Bandits had once been scientists, scholars, mechanics, technicians—people of value and influence. Yes, some were prison laborers left behind by Dahl. Still, they weren't all lawless savages and some were still worth keeping alive. They could be reasoned with, if you could speak their language and refrained from bombing their camps. Sadly, your sentiments put you in the stark minority on Helios.

Then again, none of your activities would've been allowed without Handsome Jack. He must've read your proposal last year, when you formally requested permission to found the Department of Pandoran Relations. Nobody else but Jack could sign the consent form. That simple fact lifted your spirits. Everyone was capable of change. Perhaps even an iron-fisted dictator like Jack.

Leveling your eyes with Frigg's, you offered a hopeful smile. "If it was a lost cause, I wouldn't have clearance to do any of this."

Frigg mulled that one over with a pensive guzzle of beer. Someone stepped up beside you; the bartender, who wore a peculiar amount of green. He placed a mug down in front of you and winked slyly. Without a word, he sauntered off back to the bar, whistling a cheerful tune. Frigg nearly choked on her beer as she laughed.

You must have missed the joke. "What?"

Wiping her mouth with her sleeve, Frigg waved her hand toward your mug. "Hon', you best not drink that. He prolly spit in it," she warned, jerking her head toward the man. He was wiping down the bar with a rather conspicuous smirk on his face.

"Oh." You looked down at the frothy yellow drink, unable to tell if there was saliva floating in there. Lip curled in distaste, you commented, "Charming."

"Don't take it personal. His way of messin' with folks. Gets a kick out of it, and gets a kick in the nuts 'cause of it."

"I see," you mused, unsure if you should feel offended or flattered. Idly, you toyed with the watch secured to your wrist. Then your heart missed a beat. Losing track of time had severe consequences. Oh shit.

"I'm sorry, I have to go," the words came out impulsively as you rose from your seat. When you reached to collect your notebook, a gloved hand snagged your wrist. It was a gentle but firm grasp.

Frigg eyed you nervously, alarmed by your sudden urgency to leave. "Somethin' wrong, Y/n?"

"No, it's just..." you faltered, at a loss. It really shouldn't be mentioned, why you were in such a rush. But you couldn't gloss over the truth; it was no better than lying to her face. "I have a time limit."

"Time limit?" she repeated, frowning. Her grip on your wrist refused to loosen until you explained yourself. Pandorans couldn't afford secrets.

Mentally kicking yourself, you sighed. "If I don't check in every hour, Loader Bots will come looking for me and...well, property damage usually happens."

Frigg rolled her eyes and shook her head. Letting go, she snatched up her mug and took another big gulp of beer. "Figures," she snorted.

There was no point in telling her that it wasn't your rule. Freedom to roam Pandora came with restrictions; Hyperion couldn't risk you being captured by bandits or rebels. You possessed quite extensive knowledge of the company and its assets. Being an ambassador of sorts, you were valuable to Hyperion. Lucky you.

"Take care of yourself, Frigg," you said with a genuine smile. It wasn't often that you made friends so quickly. You appreciated her kindness.

Glancing sideways at you, Frigg reached for the mug of beer you hadn't touched. Shrugging, she tossed her head back and gulped down its contents, unbothered about the probability of spit. When she finished, she belched and set the mug down. Her manners were exemplary; you bit back a giggle.

"Watch your back up there. Don't want a knife in it," Frigg warned solemnly. When she looked at you, it was clear she honestly worried about your well-being. Both of you were plenty aware of the metaphorical target on your back. Vulnerable to knives.

"I'm not that easy to get rid of. Trust me."

Even as you said it, you became paranoid. It honestly wouldn't shock you if you were ambushed the second you returned to Helios. Those who profit from the deaths you actively prevent would surely conspire some bloody end for you.

Frigg smirked at your defiant spirit, returning her goggles back to their rightful place. She lifted her mug to you, a final farewell. With nothing left to be said, you collected your things and exited the pub.

The moment you were free of prying eyes, you slumped against the side of the building. The weight of responsibility crashed down on your shoulders, like you were giving a piggyback ride to a Loader Bot. These people depended on you. Unless you convinced the right people to send medicine, the town would become a graveyard.

"Uh, Y/n, you should get back. Right now would be great. Yeah, now."

That was an ECHO call from Henry. His otherwise calm voice held a nervous tremor.

"Henry? What's going on?" Looking up at Helios, you felt dread knotting up your insides.

"Just get to your office."

Technically you were his boss. While the two of you treated each other as equals, Henry never ordered you around. It would've pissed you off, if you didn't know him. He was somewhat intoxicated and very worried.

"Okay. On my way," you responded. The ECHO cut off then. "Shit," you hissed under your breath. A terrifying thought occurred to you as you practically sprinted for the nearest fast travel station. What if they were cutting your funding?Those rotten, war-profiteering bastards!

An instant after you swiped your Hyperion employee badge, you were transported to Helios. Your boots made contact with the polished floor and immediately propelled you through the halls. Reaching your office, you didn't pause to fix your disheveled appearance.

Swiping your card again, you activated the door to open and prepared to defend your cause. A yelp escaped you as you clung to the doorframe, catching yourself. There was something slick on the floor.

Your first thought:Who's the clumsy asshole who spilled coffee on my floor and didn't mop it up?

Your second thought:Oh fuck...that's not coffee.

The thick consistency and dark crimson color made your stomach turn. Beside the pool of blood was none other than Reginald Pallor; a Hyperion executive and a royal pain in your ass. Every meeting involved idle threats to cut off your resources, and you calling him out on his shit. While he used you to promote himself, he spat on the cause. He didn't give a rat's ass about Pandora; he merely took advantage of the humanitarian platform. If anyone would put a knife in your back, it would've been Reginald.

And there he was, dead on the floor, with a pen lodged in his carotid artery.

Wait...that's my lucky pen.

"Heh-heh-hey, there she is! 'Bout time you showed up, cupcake! What am I payin' ya for? To stand around staring at some dead douchebag? I know, it's a mess. Don't worry, I'll have some other idiot clean it up. Get over here, sit down, let's get this meeting started!"

That voice grated your nerves as well as it chilled your blood.

Lounging inyourchair, with his feet propped up onyourdesk, was Handsome Jack. He grinned like the homicidal cat who viciously devoured the canary.


	3. Chapter Two

Being stabbed to death, Roman-conspiracy-style, didn't seem like the worst day on the job. At least, when compared to the abundantly gruesome alternatives Jack could devise.

Ambushed by the CEO of Hyperion in your own office, you felt somewhat violated. He was sitting in your chair, after he murdered Reginald withyour lucky pen.

While your office wasn't a grand testament to power and excellence, it was cozy; your sanctuary of sorts. Hardly anyone was permitted to enter. The door could only be unlocked by your employee I.D. card. Of course, Handsome Jack had the power and security override to go wherever he pleased.

Regardless, it was an invasion of privacy and you resented it.

And that's my bracelet.Jack held it in one large hand, which was, by the way, slathered in Reginald's blood. He twirled the trinket around with his fingers. The nosy bastard had unlocked the secret compartment under your desk, where you kept personal things. That irked you. Jack could see it, because he smirked and lifted a brow slightly, daring you to say something.

The man was toying with you. You would just have to disappoint him by keeping cool.

Sidestepping the nauseating pool of blood, you sealed the door shut and approached with measured steps. There were two chairs set in front of your desk, for visitors. One was currently occupied by Henry. Relief swelled in your chest; he was unharmed, still breathing. He glanced sideways as you eased down into the chair beside him.

Henry was a rather tall, lanky man. Recently he had changed up his hairstyle. Both sides of his head were close-shaved, leaving a thick strip of hair; the remaining locks were a couple inches long, slicked back except for a few strands that draped his forehead. You had always liked his natural brown hair, but the deep blue suited him. It complimented his rich skin-tone.

Meeting his amber-colored eyes, you sought reassurance. Henry was the smartest man you knew. He was only a couple years older than you, but he possessed wisdom that rivalled your elders. Not to mention, he had scary-accurate foresight; something that made him great at his job, preventing Hyperion losses. He was a damn good thinker, hands down. So, if he thought you were screwed, then things wouldn't end well.

With Jack watching and listening, you couldn't converse openly. But Henry had a grim look on his face. He subtly reached up to rub his chin. Your stomach dropped. That was Henry code forwe're in deep shit.Which you already guessed, but his confirmation made it real.

"So," Jack suddenly spoke, clapping his hands together. He intentionally tried to startle you both. Henry was immovable as stone. It took every ounce of self-discipline for you not to jump out of your skin.

"What's new kiddos?" Jack questioned, his mismatched eyes darting from you to Henry. You couldn't help but notice that his gaze lingered on you.

Oh hell...Your mouth had dried up. It was difficult to swallow. Normally, you had no trouble with basic communication, but the fear of being strangled in the near future had your brain in survival mode. You were trying to think how fast you could run, if he lunged for you. Could you escape Helios before he got his hands around your neck? Panicking, you knew time was ticking and he wouldn't tolerate silence forever.

"Y/n just got back from her trip to Overlook," Henry spoke up, coming to your rescue. "She missed the celebration so she could establish connections there."

For that brief moment, Henry had pulled Jack's attention away from you. It gave you an opportunity to breathe, centering yourself.Get it together,you thought, licking your lips. Somehow moisture had returned but you would kill for some water.

"Sooo, how'd it gooo?" Jack asked you. He leaned over the desk, bracing an elbow to rest his chin against his hand, exaggerating his interest. "Meet any new friends? Did you braid each other's hair and talk about boys?"

It was like he was talking to a pre-teen girl, instead of an established woman like yourself. He was a condescending asshole. But you had to represent your department. Containing a snarky retort, you pulled out your notebook. Placing it on the smooth surface of your desk, you turned the notebook so he could read it. Your finger subconsciously traced the sentences you wrote, more to keep track of your own thoughts than to guide his eye. In fact, he barely glanced at the notes, more interested in the details of your visage.

Being stared down by the most dangerous man in the solar system, you fought to maintain your composure. So far, you managed not to soil yourself or crumple to the floor begging for your life. You were already doing better than most people.

"It was brought to my attention that residents are suffering from something called 'skull shivers'. I'm not sure what that is, but people have died from it. They requested medicine," you informed, speaking concisely to avoid rambling. If Jack despised anyone more than bandits, that would be people who wasted his time.

While you spoke, Jack actually listened; you expected him to doze off or something. "Oh right, right, that's a side effect of the drilling. It happens," he dismissed the subject, waving his hand as if it was no big deal.

Blinking, you glanced back down at your notes. You had subconsciously underlined the words "dying" and "medicine" to stress the urgent need for Hyperion aid.

"Handsome Jack, sir, these people are going to die unless they receive the care they need. The medicine is cheap, well within our budget," you persisted boldly, and noticed Henry looking at you. He subtly shook his head, warning you to let it go. Squaring your shoulders as you sat straight in your chair, you refused to be discouraged. Throwing caution to the wind, you added, "It's worth it. Unless you want to inspire more rebels."

Jack leaned back slightly when your voice took on a passionate tone, unlike the forced calm you had initially started with. He tilted his head at that last comment, pursing his lips as he mulled things over. He might be considering your point, or brainstorming creative ways to kill you.

When the silence had effectively become terrifying, Jack finally shrugged. "Why the hell not?" he responded, waving his hands as if tossing the wads of cash at his disposal. "Sure, send 'em medicine. Throw in a few teddy bears and blankies, too, while you're at it."

Exchanging a dumbfounded look with a stone-faced Henry, you looked back at your boss. "Are you...serious?" you dared to ask. There was no telling when it came to Jack.

"What'd'ya mean?" he challenged, sounding offended. "I'm a nice guy! Ilovecharities. Like you said, I'm freakin' made of money, baby," he stole the opportunity to boast. Those weren't the exact words you used, but you liked breathing, so you let him paraphrase. "What kind of king would I be if I didn't give a little back, huh? I mean it's not like I'm heartless! Actually, it, uh...it kinda hurts my feelings you thought I'd joke about something like that."

Handsome Jack could be called many things;charitablewas not one of them. You continued to stare at him, unsure whether or not you should put stock in his sincerity. To avoid offending him, though, you said, "Thank you, sir. That's...very kind."

"What can I say? I'm a people-pleaser," he grinned, feigning modesty. Then he adjusted his collar, unbothered by the blood. It still covered his hands, and some had even splattered his jacket and shirt. You truly did your best to ignore it, for your own sanity.

"Now that's outta the way, we can talk about _that_ dickhead," Jack continued, gesturing to the dead man on the floor.

"Why kill him?" the question slipped out of its own accord. You resisted the urge to slap a hand over your lips. Feeling the intense eyes boring into you, your face flushed hot before draining of color. Had you spoken out of turn? Regardless of that fear, you braved his stare. It was an honest question.

"He pissed me off," Jack replied nonchalantly. "Something I strongly advise everyone to avoid doing, for the sake of their health. Also I'm uh... I'm sorry you almost broke your face, slipping in his blood. That was-ha ha, that was my fault, cupcake, but you have good reflexes. Really, that was impressive. The look on your face, though," he cackled at the memory, "Priceless."

He had a morbid sense of humor. You weren't amused; the smell of death would linger for weeks. When a thought occurred to you, it made your stomach clench. "So...if he's dead, who will be funding us?"

Jack pointed his finger at you. "Bingo! There it is, the question I really hoped you'd ask! Good job catching on, you're a smart cookie. That means the money that goes into your paycheck isn't a waste."

Most would be swooning over the fact Handsome Jack was praising them. It just made you feel uncomfortable. Containing the restless urge to escape his presence, you waited for him to get to the point.

"From now on, kiddos, you answer to me," Jack announced, as he leaned back in his chair. "You report to her," he instructed Henry in simple terms, then fixed his eyes on you. "And you report to me," he pointed at you, before planting hand on his chest. The guy was constantly making gestures and expressions; he had charisma, you would give him that much. "I'm your direct source for funding. Following so far? Good. I like you two, you're good listeners. As long as we understand each other,thatwon't be you," he then pointed to the corpse of Reginald. "Mm'kay?"

"Yes, Handsome Jack, sir," Henry immediately responded, having kept silent a majority of the conversation. A robotic response.

Everything was such a shock to you. It felt like you had been ejected into space. Drifting with no control. Unable to breathe. Powerless.

Fingers snapped in your face, startling you. Blinking, you focused your vision on Jack, who had leaned over the desk so he could invade your personal bubble. The foul smell of blood mingled with earthy cologne; it was repulsive yet disturbingly alluring. Unable to breathe or think straight, you recoiled and pressed back into your chair. There was no mistaking the predatory look in his eyes. Jack knew how intimidating he could be, without even trying, and he reveled in it.

"Hi, welcome back," he teased, referencing the fact you had completely spaced out. "I said, you're gonna report to me, personally, from now on. Got it, pumpkin?"

Keeping him waiting for an answer was unwise. "I got it," you replied, shocking yourself by the tone of your voice. It didn't come out timid, but strong and unwavering. Your chin remained lifted, almost defiant.

The subtle lift of his brow meant Jack noticed; your heart quickened, but you refused to lower your eyes. No, you held his gaze. He might have everyone else on Helios acting like whipped dogs, cowering and scrambling to please him, but you wouldn't be bullied.

If your defiant eye angered Jack, he masked it well. Smirking, he reached his blood-smeared hand toward you. It was a large, powerful hand capable of crushing your windpipe. He merely gave your cheek a playful pinch. "Good. That's what I like to hear. Well, this has been a productive day! Which reminds me..."

Rising from the chair, Jack grabbed his pistol and waved it in the air. Wide-eyed, you risked a glance at Henry, who gripped the arms of his chair; the only indication of his fear.

"I've got some Vault Hunters to kill," Jack announced exuberanly. With a sly wink in your direction, he purred, "Ciao."

Just like that, he stepped over a very dead Reginald and departed. Astounded that you survived a meeting withthe Handsome Jack, you and Henry both stared at one another.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Henry suddenly exclaimed, launching to his feet. He stressfully pulled at his blue hair then rubbed his face, relieved to be among the living and exasperated all at once.

Indignant, you gaped at him. Still in your seat, you cried, "Me?Youwanted me to just throw everything out the window!"

Henry fixed you with a hard stare. "Come on, Y/n. Don't make me say it..."

Folding your arms, you squinted your eyes at him.

"For the love of...Jack shouldn't have a hand in what we do, okay? He killed Reginald, because the asshat said what everyone else was thinking. Damn it, Y/n! You're lucky he didn't put a bullet inyourhead, the way you acted...He's not gonna give us anything. You know that! He wants to watch us go down in flames. We're dicked."

Henry had started to rant, pacing the room with his hands on his hips. While he rarely raised his voice, it was tense and harsh at times. He usually remained very calm and collected, but you couldn't blame him for freaking out. The whole time Jack was breathing down your necks, he had been holding it in. Who knew what Jack said to him before you arrived.

"The fact we're alive says something," you attempted to reassure him. It was true. Jack didn't fire people who were useless. Nobody was allowed to live on Helios if they contributed nothing. Emphasis onlive.

Henry made a face of puzzlement. "Did you...did you just giveHandsome Jackcredit? Seriously?"

That was an insult. "No!" you defended, getting a bit angry. How had he come to that conclusion? Calming yourself, you smoothly closed your notebook and rested both hands on it. Somehow, it radiated a sense of purpose. Everything you were passionate about, every life you had touched, all the unfinished projects; they were all contained within. You would be damned if anyone ripped that away.

"I'm not going to let him destroy us, Henry."

"Are we talking about the same person?" he deadpanned, his arms limp by his sides. "Destroying things is what Handsome Jack does. And he's the best at it."

"Let me handle Jack, okay? Contrary to what 'everyone thinks', I know what I'm doing. Have a little confidence in me, sheesh," you bitterly muttered that last. It kind of hurt how he was already accepting defeat.

Henry groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose; that guilt trip took effect. "Y/n, you know that's not what I..." he trailed off, at a loss for words while you pouted slightly. Rolling his eyes at your dramatics, he sat back down next to you.

"Hey," he called softly, trying to get you to look at him. "We're in this thing together. I believe in you, it's just...please, be careful how you talk to that guy."

"I know what he's capable of, Henry..." you responded in a hushed tone.

Remembering the fact Jack touched your face with his bloody hand, you shivered. "Reginald was an asshole, though. Jack kind of did us a favor."

Henry wasn't appalled; he felt the same way. "Yeah, but I think I'll skip dinner. Something about watching a guy choke on his own blood...kind of ruins your appetite."

"When I get home, I'm taking a piping hot shower. Being groped by a scummy drunk kinda makes you wanna scrub your skin off," you countered, letting him know you had a shitty day as well.

"Was that supposed to make me feel better?" he asked, making a face. After a moment, he shook his head. "Nope. Didn't work."

That made you laugh a bit. Henry chuckled despite himself, and the two of you sat for a while longer, hesitant to go separate ways.

A tentative knock at the door forced you to stand. Henry did the same, watching like a protective hawk as you opened the door. There stood a janitor. Some newbie fresh out of school, whose face turned a shade of green at the sight of the corpse on the floor.

"Uhm...Handsome Jack t-told me there was trash..." the poor kid managed to choke out.

You felt sorry for him. More so than you felt for Reginald. "Yeah...he meant a dead body," you explained as gently as you could, but the damage was done.

Obviously, it wasn't his job to dispose of corpses. It was a dick move on Jack's part to involve him, just to make a mockery of the deceased Reginald.

As much as you had loathed the bastard, it unsettled you seeing his body tossed into a trash bin. Henry's warning replayed over in your mind, as the janitor reluctantly mopped up the blood and left behind no evidence.Be careful how you talk to that guy...

Handsome Jack had some ulterior motive to get involved with the Department of Pandoran Relations. Either he was impressed by the reputation you had established, or he wanted to dismantle everything you built. You were determined to figure out which.


	4. Chapter Three

Hyperion yellow; when in doubt, it never failed to represent the company.

Fussing in front of the full-length mirror in the entryway of your Helios apartment, you disgusted yourself. Why were you so anxious? Like some insecure teenager getting ready for a date with some hot body. For fuck's sake, you confronted a handful of bandit leaders, and met with rebellious Pandoran residents who were on a crusade against Hyperion. Emerging from those encounters relatively unscathed, certainly you could handle a brisk walk to Handsome Jack's office.

A week had passed since you formally met Handsome Jack. That whole unsettling incident had everyone in the Department of Pandoran Relations practically soiling themselves. Despite your associates' collective dread of being ejected out of an airlock, Jack hadn't made any decisions to purge Helios of "bandit sympathizers" or otherwise undermine your authority. He merely had his A.I. assistant, Angel, monitor things on his behalf while he tended to more important business.

In the meantime, Frigg contacted you with her thanks for the delivery of skull shivers medicine. Funnily enough, Jack had stayed true to his word. With the way things were going, Hyperion had plenty of wealth to redistribute; they were making a killing off the increasing state of unrest on Pandora.

Now it was time for you to uphold your end. While it was common knowledge that Angel regularly updated him on your every movement, Jack would be expecting you to show up to hand over your report. Simple enough on paper. More challenging in execution. It wasn't as if you had a _crush_ on Jack. In fact, you hated his guts. Perhaps it was just self-preservation, manifesting itself as crippling anxiety and self-doubt. That had to be it, because you would rather be strangled to death than even think about being romantically involved. Which had a high probability of happening (the strangling part).

Your dusty-yellow rakk-hide jacket had become a permanent staple in your everyday attire. More than that, it seemed to be part of your identity; people recognized it, and by extension, you. Now that Jack had his eye on you, so did all of Helios. It was a strange feeling. Clawing your way up the food chain was equally rewarding as it was dangerous. If you had a target on your back before, now you had a neon sign flashing above your head. Easy prey.

With that harrowing revelation, you focused on piecing together an appropriate outfit. Ultimately, you settled on simple black pants and a charcoal blouse. The blouse was made of a silky fabric, somewhat loose-fitting as it draped your hips. As for hair and makeup; the usual would suffice. When all else failed, you opted for the trusty boots that could carry you across the harshest landscapes Pandora had to offer. They were skag-skin, with gold-tinted metal plates on the toes and heels. You could rely on them for navigating the corporate hell that was Helios.

Careful how you talk to that guy…

Wise words that played on repeat in your mind. Promptly exiting your apartment, you opted to make the long trek to Jack's office on foot. Sleep had eluded you; you managed to get an hour of shut-eye before waking in cold sweat. There was no relaxing after that, so you showered, starting your shift early. While most were sluggish when they missed out on sleep, you were wired and anxious.

It didn't help that Henry hadn't answered your ECHO call. It was unlike him to ignore you. The previous day, he complained about feeling under the weather. Maybe he was just sleeping in.

Eventually, you reached the Hyperion Hub of Heroism. The door leading to Jack's office required special clearance to access. Stepping in front of the scanner, you remained poise while a red laser analyzed your genetic code. After a brief moment, a female A.I. spoke, "Access approved. Readings confirm that you are: a sassy cupcake."

Hearing yourself officially identified as a "sassy cupcake" momentarily baffled you. Then it clicked in your brain.Jack. He had seriously taken time out of his life to change your name in the system, for the sole purpose of annoying you. It shouldn't have come as a surprise...

Entering the corridor, you began the ridiculously long walk to the office ahead. The whole way, the tough soles of your boots—which were far stealthier in natural environments—created steady thuds, obnoxiously loud in the otherwise quiet space. Nearing the large, motion-activated doors, you paused to gather your nerves.

The entire week, you avoided thinking about another confrontation with Handsome Jack. If you were honest with yourself, he got under your skin. Nobody on Helios or Pandora had ever managed to unhinge you like he did. You considered just leaving the paperwork outside the door, but there were a few things wrong with that. One; it was cowardly. Two; it was unprofessional and impersonal. Three; Jack would hunt you down, and inconveniencing him would greatly increase the risk of strangulation.

So, you had to put big girl panties on.

The doors slid open to reveal the glamour and gleaming grandeur that was Jack's office. Its high ceiling and vast expanse made you feel insignificant. Positioned on a platform, there was the desk that served as the epicenter of power. The cushioned chair was a golden throne befitting a king. At the moment, it was empty.

Jack had stepped out.

One of your boots edged slightly backwards. If you were intruding, maybe it was best to wait outside for his return. Then again, he told you to report to him first thing in the morning. In the end, curiosity got the better of you.

Passing the two identical busts carved into Jack's likeness, you rolled your eyes.Such a narcissist…You ventured deeper into the enormous room. There was a section of shelving that displayed some of his most prized possessions. One of them appeared to be a goatee...Weirdo.

Inevitably, you lost interest in the room itself. One could only take so much Jack. Pulled to the window overlooking Elpis, you pressed a hand to the reinforced glass. The surface of the battered moon was scarred. Sadness plucked at your heartstrings, like a harpist playing a mournful song. Elpis wasn't your home; neither was Pandora. All the same, honor bound you to save what remained. Witnessing the violent end of one planet had been devastating enough…

"There's my sassy cupcake!"

Torn out of your reverence by that sudden voice, you nearly smacked your forehead against the glass. Recovering from that minor heart attack, you turned to see Handsome Jack striding toward you, dragging another person along.

"Henry?!" you called his name impulsively, unnerved by the fact he was being manhandled by Jack.

Blue hair a tangled mess, your friend looked like hell. His purple shirt was haphazardly buttoned, half-tucked into his black slacks as it had been thrown on in haste. Mirroring your confusion, his amber eyes searched yours for any explanation. Jack had his strong hand clamped around the nape of the skinnier man's neck, forcing him to walk. As if Henry would be foolish enough to resist.

"Jack, what—"

Ushering a compliant Henry toward one of the chairs in front of his desk, Jack cut you off, "Everyone just sit down and shut up for like, five seconds. Can ya do that for me, pumpkin?"

His tone was harsh at first before melting into an almost soothing purr.

With Jack's steel grip on his neck, the younger man had no choice but to allow himself to be forced down into the cushion. Releasing his grip, Jack gave his cheek a quick pat. Whether it was meant to be comforting, or just a way to taunt him, you weren't sure.

Obeying his command was the best way to avoid escalating the situation. Quickly abandoning the window, you approached the remaining seat. Jack nodded approval when you lowered yourself down. Without a word, he sauntered around his desk. Collapsing into his golden throne with a contented sigh, he closed his eyes for a moment. Then he leaned forward, folding his hands under his chin. That infamous smirk was plastered on his handsome face, while he discreetly gave you the once-over.

You had seen that look before. During your first year on Helios, you attended one of the annual company celebrations. Corporate warmongers, resource leeches, and ass-kissers were all invited. At the time, you had been a glorified coffee-maker. None of it had been enjoyable for you, but you were required to attend. Handsome Jack had given one of his speeches, as tradition dictated. Long story short, one moron had become inebriated enough to think climbing on stage was a good idea. He interrupted Jack's speech by vomiting all over his expensive shoes. Everyone in the room had gasped, including you. At first, Jack laughed it off. To the audience's shock and confusion, the CEO handled the situation with good grace. For the briefest second, you thought the ruthless dictator might be capable of forgiveness. That naiveté had been crushed along with the poor drunk's skull.

Jack had smashed his whiskey glass over the man's head. Most would've stopped there. Not Jack. After the drunk went down, he stomped on the man's face with terrifying brute force. By the time he tired himself out, there was nothing but an unrecognizable, bloody mess of cracked bone and pulverized flesh.

Before he snapped, Jack had the same look on his face. Deceptively calm. False smile. A calculating stare, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Jack moved his hands suddenly, palms out as he fixed you with a questioning stare. "Sooo? What'd'ya got for me?"

Whatever confidence you had before just disintegrated. The only thing preventing you from shutting down was Henry; even in his bedraggled, fatigued state, his presence was a comfort.

"Here, Jack, sir," you managed to say, without stammering. You held out the folder, containing your typed report. It had taken several hours to organize everything into a comprehensive log of activity.

The confusion was clear on his face as Jack eyed the folder. Quirking a brow, he regarded you as if he thought you were pulling a prank on him. "Seriously? You're handing mepaper? What, you can't figure out how to work an ECHO recorder?"

"Where I'm from, people prefer to see things on paper," you defended. "I guess I'm just not used to all this. Old habits, you know..." you trailed off, becoming increasingly insecure about your methods. He hadn't lifted a hand to take the report; instead, he simply eyed you with that smirk on his face. Clearing your throat softly, you briefly lowered your eyes.

Leaving the room sounded like a good idea. Somewhat dejected, you pulled the folder back. "I could go scan them—"

Waving his hand to dismiss that, Jack cut you off. "No, no, don't bother. It's not a big deal, cupcake. Just not what I'm used to. Give it here, lemme see what you crazy kiddos have been up to."

Jack accepted the folder when you held it out again. Flipping it open, he actually put in the effort to read through. His eyes diligently scanned the pages; he was a fast reader, but he didn't skim carelessly. Tilting your face toward Elpis, you discreetly observed his expression while he flipped through the report. Despite the fact he wore a mask—literally—it wasn't difficult to make out his emotions. He had that smirk permanently plastered on his face, but he furrowed his brow in deep-thought. For whatever reason, he hadn't tossed the report directly into the trash. Maybe everyone was wrong; maybe he did care.

"Nice work, cupcake," he praised, before tossing the thick folder onto his desk. Arms folded, he smiled and leveled his heterochromatic eyes at you. "Keep it up, really, you're killing it. Oh, maybe that was a poor choice of words," he chuckled to himself.

That little jab at your pacifism wasn't lost on you, but you chose not to give him a reaction. Blinking slowly, you were unsure if you were supposed to leave. "Is...is that all you needed, sir?"

"Actually, no, so glad you asked. To be honest, that was just an excuse to get you in here," he admitted shamelessly. "I want us to get to know each other better. By that, I really mean that I'm gonna ask you questions. And you're gonna answer them. How's that sound? Good? Okay, cool."

Risking a glance to Henry, you saw that he had his head down. That didn't bode well. Returning your attention to Jack, you asked, "So...what do you want to know?"

"How about we start with the fact you weren't born in this solar system?" he suggested. The tone of his voice was nonchalant, but he had a smug look. The look of a man who had dirt on you.

Henry gave you a sidelong glance; one of confusion, and a hint of denial. Had Jack interrogated him earlier?

Shit…The truth would've surfaced eventually. You just never expected Handsome Jack to be the one to confront you. Shifting in your seat, you crossed your arms. Naturally, you denied whatever you were being accused of. "I don't know what you're talking about. My birth certificate says—"

"Fabrication, sweetheart," Jack interrupted, folding his arms to mimic your stubborn posture. He smirked, knowing he had you backed into a corner. "It's not hard to find some desk-monkey around here to falsify records. Just come clean, Y/n. Unless you're telling me _this_ isn't yours?"

Reaching into his pocket, he held something up for you to see. Dangling from his fingers was your bracelet. It had been cleansed of blood, glittering gold in the soft light of his office. The charms sparkled as they swayed in his grasp. Instinctively, you reached out to retrieve what belonged to you.

"Ah, ah," Jack chided, curling his fist around the bracelet and snatching it well out of reach. Leaning back in his chair, he tilted slightly away and held the bracelet in front of his face. He watched the gold and exquisite diamond reflect the light, mesmerized by its beauty, while you resisted the urge to lunge over his desk like a psycho.

"I was just curious, really. Wanted to know where this little beauty came from, y'know, in case I wanted to buy another one just like it. Imagine the look on my face when Angel told me this: It's not even made of stuff you can find in our galaxy! Crazy, right? But it got me thinking...how did it end up inyourdesk? So, tell me where you're really from. Because I _really_ don't like secrets."

There was no way you would spill your guts to Handsome Jack, of all people. Feeling bold, you gave him a skeptical look. "Really? You're worked up over bracelet?" you asked, laughing a bit. When his smirk vanished, you rethought the whole smartass thing. "I found it, okay? I don't know where it came from," you told him.

It was lame, but the laser-hot glare burning into your face made it difficult to think of a better lie.

Not only did Jack look unconvinced, he seemed to be considering murder.

Rising from his chair, Jack smoothly stepped around the desk. Every muscle in your body tensed, as you watched him perch on the edge closeby. Sliding over, he sat directly in front of you, so his broad shoulders blocked your view of the cosmos behind him. Arms folded, he hels the dainty trinket in plain sight, wrapped around his knuckles.

"Let me ask you again. And this time, I want the truth. Because if you lie to me, I'll _snap your freakin' neck_ ," he threatened. The tone of his voice was menacingly casual, almost upbeat. If you didn't know any better, you might've thought he was joking. "There are only two kinds of people who hide shit. Ok? There's people who want to escape their past...and no-good, back-stabbing,mother fucking spies!" he practically snarled that last.

Volatile temper flaring, Jack snagged hold of Henry, yanking him out of his seat by the front of his shirt. Buttons clattered to the floor at their feet and seams tore as the fabric pulled taut in Jack's brutal fist. His other hand freed the pistol from its holster at his hip. Unforgiving metal pressed hard against the tender flesh under Henry's chin. While the younger man was startled, he didn't grovel. He braved the wrath of Jack, on your behalf.

Distressed to see your friend in such a position, you reached out pleadingly. "Don't hurt him, please, he doesn't know anything about this!"

Jack laughed harshly, giving you the side-eye. "Oh I know that, sweetheart. He's here to make sure you tell the truth, because I'm gonna be straight with you—it would be a shame if that cute little outfit of yours got covered in your BFF's brain matter."

There was no reasoning with the maniac when he was two seconds away from murdering your best friend. Coming clean was the only way to ensure Henry's brains remained inside his head. Espionage was a serious accusation with fatal repercussions, but Jack was the last person you ever considered telling the truth about your origin. Not even Henry knew...

"Tick, tock, pumpkin," Jack warned, glancing down at the watch he wore over his chest. His patience was running out, along with Henry's lifespan. "Let's hear it."

"Earth!" you blurted out, causing him to blink in confusion. "I...I was born on a planet called Earth."

Judging by the look on his face, he had no idea what you were talking about. He needed more information than that, if he was going to let you and Henry walk out of his office alive.

"The humans there destroyed it...the Earth just, well...died," you told both men, unable to look at either of them. Digging your fingers into your arm, you swallowed hard at the imaginary obstruction in your throat. It was sorrow, threatening to take solid form.

"Well that's just the saddest damn thing I ever heard," Jack responded halfheartedly. The skepticism was clear in his tone. "And just how did you—sole survivor of planet Earth—end up here on my space station?"

"There were other survivors," you corrected, speaking softly as you fought to contain your emotions. "We only made it because aliens…I mean, other people, rescued us. The Saviors, we called them…Only a few hundred of us escaped. The rest perished, along with the planet. With our home gone, we were galactic refugees. The Saviors gave us new identities. My family and friends didn't..." pausing to sniffle and choke back emotions, you exhaled and finished, "They didn't make it. I was a child, then. So I was given to a man on Elpis, who raised me. When I was old enough, I signed up for your intern program. I've worked here for five years. Henry can confirm that, at least…"

While you told your story, Jack listened intently. He tilted his head, frowning a bit toward the end. For a moment, he seemed sympathetic, or maybe you were giving him too much credit. His eyes fell to the bracelet still wrapped around his knuckles. It was impossible to predict what he was thinking, but his tightly knotted brow told you he wasn't entirely reassured. His blue-and-green eyes narrowed skeptically. His trust issues and trigger-happy disposition endangered anyone he deemed suspicious.

"The birth certificate you have is fake, yeah, but I'm not working for any third party. I'm not a spy. Neither is Henry. We just want to do what we can to help Pandora. Same as you, Jack."

Henry had been silent the entire time. He looked more fatigued than terrified. Finally, Jack tucked his gun back into its holster. Shoving the skinnier man back into his seat, your boss folded his arms once more. Pursing his lips in consideration, he glanced from you to the sulking blue-haired man, deciding what to do with you both.

"Alright, kiddo, you're free to go," Jack said to Henry.

Baffled, your friend opened his mouth as if to protest, but thought better of it. Nodding once, he muttered, "Yes, sir," and stood rather shakily. You reached out to steady him. Sharply jerking his arm away from your touch, Henry rejected the comfort you attempted to give him.

You legitimately felt a stabbing pain in your chest.

"Wow, that's cold," Jack commented, watching the wordless exchange between the two of you.

Without saying a thing, Henry turned his back on you and exited the office. Alone with Jack, you were forced to conceal the heart-rending guilt over what happened. You never wanted any harm to come to Henry over your secret.

"Well, Y/n. Lucky for you, I'm in a good mood. Normally I would've just shoved you both into an airlock. These goddamn interrogations just eat up precious time."

"Then why waste your time?" you questioned. The words came out more sharply than you intended. There was no taking it back, so you set your jaw. Something kept him from straight up murdering you; might as well take advantage of it.

Jack remained seated on his desk in front of you, smirking. He seemed to mull that over for a second, deciding how to answer. "Because you're one of the few people worth the air they breathe," he said, shrugging as if that were obvious. "And I like your attitude, even if you're a little stuck up."

Leave it to Jack to compliment and insult you, all in the same breath. "I'm flattered," you replied sarcastically.

Jack stopped smiling, but he looked more thoughtful than ticked off. "One last question," he proposed. Directing a pointed glance at the bracelet still wrapped around his knuckles, he asked, "What does this mean to you?"

"It was a birthday gift. My friend gave it to me, but it reminds me of what I lost. So I'd like it back," you stated that last firmly, not caring who you were speaking to. That bracelet represented not only the loved ones left behind, but the vow you had made to the universe.

Jack lifted a brow at your bold attitude. "Nah, I think I'll keep it," he mused, smirking while he secured the magnetic clip around his wrist; it was a snug fit. He raised his arm and tilted his arm, admiring how the glittery bracelet looked against his skin.

"Consider it a penalty, for lying to me."

"What? I told you the truth!" you cried, infuriated by his constant teasing.

"Yeah, _after_ I threatened you and your boyfriend, cupcake," he practically groaned, "Why do I have to threaten people all the damn time? I mean, seriously. It's like everyonewantsto die."

"That belongs to me, you have no right to take it!"

Possessed by the rage he had ignited, you stood up. Jack looked utterly astounded, as you glared up at him with your fists curled by your sides. When he exhaled, the hot breath fanned your cheeks, making your stomach clench.

Sitting on the edge of his desk, he was elevated an inch or so higher than usual. You were standing between his legs, while he essentially loomed over you. When the shock of your defiance wore off, his stunned expression became rigid. He fully processed the fact you had just challenged his authority.

You were about to die.


	5. Chapter Four

Warm palms rested on the base of your neck. Your lungs were already tightening, anticipating the slow and violent death to come. Jack deliberately ran a thumb over the delicate skin of your throat. You guessed he was savoring the moment before he crushed your windpipe.

Begging for your life wouldn't help, even if you resorted to forsaking your pride. Jack detested such cowardice; if anything, spineless groveling only tempted him to drag out the kill. You refused to give him that satisfaction.

"Y'know, I thought it was cute, how you're so sassy, but that right there...I can't put up with that, cupcake."

"So you're gonna kill me over a bracelet?" you challenged, getting your jab in while you could. "Whatever makes you feel like a man, Jack."

The fingers tightened slightly around your neck, but you bravely met his eyes. He leaned closer, his nose almost touching yours. When he applied pressure to your throat, your fingers dug into the firm muscle of his forearms. Would you have any chance of actually fighting him off? The odds of that were slim.

Just when you expected his hand to clamp tightly over your windpipe, he robbed you of breath in an entirely different way. His lips captured yours in a powerful kiss.

Stunned, you remained motionless. The kiss was over quickly; Jack didn't wait for it to be reciprocated or not. When he pulled back, he studied your reaction and laughed uncontrollably. It sounded different than the last few times you heard him laugh. It wasn't cruel; more light-hearted, like you had told him a joke.

Cheeks on fire, you leaned back slightly, while his grip on your neck loosened a bit. Jack grinned down at you, looking very amused with himself.

"I'm not gonna kill ya, pumpkin!" he exclaimed with another chuckle. Then he furrowed his brow critically, shaking his head. "Really though, you were just gonna let me strangle you? Ha-ha, wow, that's uh...well, pretty disappointing. I thought you'd at least fight back."

"I knew...you were bluffing," you defended, a bit out of breath. Your heart was still pounding in your chest from that narrow brush with death. While you surely hoped he was just toying with you, he was difficult to predict. He could've been serious.

"You're cute when you're all flustered," he commented, as his hands lingered on your shoulders. The anger had evaporated entirely; had it all been an act? His expression softened, as his vibrant eyes peered seductively into yours. You were convinced all the oxygen had been sucked from the room.

Light-headed, your senses were clouded by the scent of his cologne. Unlike before, there was no blood soaking his clothes; in fact, they were spotless. Momentarily distracted, you weren't aware of how he had leaned closer until his lips were grazing yours. Alarms went off in your head. Whatever was happening, decency demanded for you to abort it.

Recoiling from the sensual temptation, you overestimated how much room you had. The back of your knees caught the chair behind you. There was a dull ache as your ass planted into the seat. Your hands instinctively clung to the arm-rests while the chair tilted backwards.Fucking hell!

Before you could suffer a humiliating fall, Jack reacted with lightning quick reflexes. His boot planted on the chair—between your legs—stabilizing it. The man didn't say a damn word; he merely eyed you with a self-satisfied smirk.

Sweltering underneath your rakk-hide jacket, you considered ripping it off. But that might give Jack the wrong idea.

"Uhm…I…" you attempted, breathing heavily. Your lips were still tingling from the brief contact, which only made you increasingly flustered. Jack quirked an eyebrow, inviting you to continue. Thinking fast, you said, "I should get back to work."

Blushing like mad, you scooted your chair back a tad. His sturdy boot slid off the chair, allowing you to stand. Jack remained where he was, arms folded once more, peering down at you. He might've been giving you sexy eyes; you weren't certain, because you refused to make direct eye contact. The air between you had become electrified, and being in such close proximity to Jack felt destabilizing. The heat of his eyes on your body were enough to make your kneew tremble. Desperate for some fresh air that didn't smell of his cologne, you set your sights on the exit.

"Hey, hang on a hot second," Jack said before you could make it two steps.

Hating how your stomach had taken up gymnastics, you reluctantly turned back to face him. Pushing away from his desk, he stood in front of you. Thankfully, he decided to allow you room to breathe. Removing the bracelet from his wrist, he held it delicately between his fingers. There was something uncharacteristically sentimental about his softened expression. His lips pouted softly, while his mismatched eyes held compassion that perplexed you beyond words. He wanted to put the bracelet on you himself.

Speechless, you complied, lifting your hand up. Jack was gentle as he secured the exquisite chain around your wrist, ceremoniously relinquishing it to its rightful owner.

"No more secrets," Jack said; it was a fair warning.

"Of course not, sir," you replied quietly.

There it was; the infamous grin that broke hearts and terrified his enemies. "That's what I like to hear," he purred. His large hand lingered near yours, grazing the sensitive skin with his fingertips before pulling away. "Oh, and uh, see you next week, sweet cheeks."

Abruptly turning on his heel, he strode back to his desk. He was a busy man with a company to run and a planet to dominate. That was your cue to leave; a golden opportunity that you gladly stole.

What in the actual fuck just happened?On the list of things that made logical sense in the universe, being kissed by Handsome Jack was definitely not a contender. The two of you were polar opposites. If politics could be embodied as material objects, yours would be a care package filled with goodies; Jack's would be a nuclear warhead.

Disregarding the fact he was responsible for the New Haven massacre, he almost put a bullet in Henry's skull. All of those things appalled and disgusted you. So, how could you feel so exhilarated after his lips made contact with yours?

Consumed by the onslaught of shame and conflicting emotions, you were unaware of the lithe figure shadowing you through the corridor. Sliding your I.D. badge through the slot, you unlocked the door to your office. Eager to have some privacy, you shed the stifling rakk-hide jacket with a huff of relief.

Subconsciously, you side-stepped the spot on the floor where Reginald bled out. While every inch of the floor had been sanitized, your mind's eye could never be scrubbed clean of the gore.

When you reached for the button that would secure the door, a strange electric field caused you to pause. The air directly in front of you appeared empty, but instinct argued to the contrary.

Sensing another presence, your skin prickled as the hair stood up on the back of your neck. Holding your breath, you dared to slowly extend your fingertips closer to the doorway. Farther…farther…

Nothing solid could be felt. There was nothing, or nobody, in front of you. Maybe you were delusional from lack of sleep and post-traumatic stress.

The strange electricity had moved behind you. Spine rigid, you had no time to escape the room before an invisible but very solid hand pressed over your mouth. An arm wrapped around your chest, under your chin, as another hand grasped your shoulder; the unidentified person was very tall and lean.

"No one must hear us," a slightly distorted male voice instructed. "Close the door."

Those words had been carefully chosen, perhaps to put you at ease. Whoever the mysterious person was, they intended to engage you in conversation rather than kill you. At least, you hoped so. Reaching out, you pushed the door closed, listening to the beep of the security system activating.

Shedding the cloak he had been using to remain unseen, he loosened his hold and took a respective step backwards.

Salvaging the remains of your dignity, you turned to face the intruder. Clad in a black, armored bodysuit, his face was concealed behind an odd, elongated helmet.

"Listen to my words. / Your life holds significance; / I must preserve it."

As if things couldn't become any more confusing, a mysterious guy has appeared speaking riddles. What fresh hell had you been cast into?

The stranger tilted his head as you edged around him, holding your hand out as if to fend off any approach. "Look, whatever this is, I'm really not in the mood. I don't know who you are—who even are you?"

There was a brief silence. Then a numerical symbol projected over his helmet.

"Zer0?"

A smile emoticon appeared, confirming that you were correct. Zer0 had a strange way of communicating.

"Okay…Zer0. Why are you here exactly?"

"Knowledge is power. / Her motives concealed but pure; / Angel guided me."

Was he being deliberately vague, or was his speech limited to haiku? You weren't entirely sure what to think of this Zer0, but you got the impression he might not be able to explain. Reflecting on what little information he offered, you recognized a name.

"Wait, did you say _Angel_?" you questioned, moving a step closer.

Zer0 nodded.

That made no sense; she was an A.I. programmed to serve Jack. "Why would Angel hire you to protect me?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Zer0 responded with "IDK" displayed over his helmet.

Well, that's helpful. Planting a hand on your forehead, you sighed and did your best to remain calm. How in the hell was he able to get aboard Helios, anyway? Cloaking capabilities aside, security was pretty tight. Sneaking onto the station was next to impossible; unless he stowed away aboard a Hyperion ship, which he very well could have. It really didn't matterhow—you were more interested in thewhy.

Drowning in a tidal wave of confusion, you were seconds away from having a meltdown.

"You can't be here, Zer0," you told him. "If anyone sees you—"

Zer0 vanished the instant you suggested he could be detected without wanting to be. That was a solid argument as any. When he reappeared, a winking emoticon displayed over his head.

"Fair enough…" you sighed, folding your arms. "So what now? You're going to be my shadow for…how long?"

"A ghost in the shell; / I shall exist in shadow, / until the threat is gone."

In other words, he hadn't the slightest idea.

Heaving another sigh, you accepted the inescapable reality. His presence would be a constant in the foreseeable future; might as well get used to it.

"Well, I have work to do," you said, heading over to your desk. Slumping down into your chair, you were dreadfully aware of how exhausted you were. Mentally, physically, emotionally...

Zer0 remained in the position he had been holding the entire time. It was a kind of unnerving how little he moved. His back was turned to you, as he seemed to focus his undivided attention on the door.

"Uh...you can sit down, you know," you offered, gesturing toward the sofa pushed up against the far wall a few feet away from your desk. It was a small lounging area; sometimes you would catch up on missed sleep, or read a book. The cushions tempted you to take advantage of them, but you couldn't fall behind in your work.

Zer0 glanced over his shoulder, either looking at you or the sofa. "The offer is appreciated," he responded, but he refused to budge. The guy was tense as hell.

"My office is secure. Nobody can get in, unless I grant access," you assured him. Despite the confidence you had in the security system, you couldn't help feeling paranoid due to his tension. "Chill out, damn. You're making me anxious."

"I apologize," Zer0 said amiably. Moving at a languid pace, he abandoned his self-appointed post in the center of the room, approaching the sofa. Pivoting on his heel, he lowered himself onto the middle cushion, perching on the edge. You watched him, fascinated by his movements; they were deliberate, executed with effortless grace and precision. Resting his hands on his thighs, he remained on high alert. He seemed to notice you staring, because he slowly eased himself back until he appeared more comfortable.

"Better," you commented with a smirk. An audible chuckle came from Zer0 but he had no rebuttal. Returning to your work, very little progress was made before you could feel yourself shutting down. Losing focus, your mind wandered to your mysterious new companion; he seemed oddly familiar.

"No more secrets."

"Of course not, sir."

Recalling that exchange, you fought back hysterical laughter. There would be severe consequences for neglecting to report Zer0 directly to Jack. While it would be in your best interest, you weren't the type to throw others under the bus to save your own ass. With that said, you had to wonder just who Zer0 was and whether or not he could be trusted.

Unable to pacify the curiosity distracting you from your work, you decided to access the Hyperion database for wanted criminals. Risking a glance at your silent protector, you confirmed he had not moved a muscle since he seated himself. Scrolling through the lists, you searched for anything connected to his name and physical description.

Sure enough, there was a serious bounty on Zer0's head. The offense: political assassination. The reward: thirty-two billion dollars.

"Blood spilled for money. / I feel no shame reaping souls. / It is what I do."

A shriek escaped you as you nearly fell out of your chair. The tall and slender form of Zer0 stood right beside you; he had been in your blind spot, for some indeterminate time. He could've killed you several times over if he intended to do so. It was unnatural how silently he could approach; no wonder he had such a high bounty. Few people—with a modicum of sanity—would dare to contend with such a formidable foe.

"Holy shit, don't do that!" you scolded him, placing a hand over your chest as if to contain your wildly-jumping heart.

"You're jumpy," he teased, peering down at you from behind the dark visor of his helmet.

Rolling your eyes, you wiped away some of the sweat that beaded on your forehead. It seemed that everyone on Helios was committed to driving you to madness. Groaning, you slumped over and rested your cheek on the cool, smooth surface of your desk. Zer0 tilted his head slightly while he stood beside you, as several question marks appeared over his head. His way of asking what was on your mind.

"If you're an assassin, then why protect me?" you asked. "What if the person Angel wants you to protect me from offers you money to kill me? Would you?"

"I would not accept. / Challenges are what I seek. / Have no fear of me."

Basically, you were easy prey; unappealing to an apex predator such as him. He was unapologetic about his crimes, but he seemed dedicated to guarding your life with unexplained motive. So, you were inclined to feel some sort of appreciation. "Oh...thanks, I think?"

To your surprise, Zer0 placed a hand on your shoulder. It was then you realized he only had four digits on each hand; three fingers and a thumb. Whatever that implied, there was something more to him than a sword for hire. Without saying a word, he pledged his loyalty to you.

"Why are you really here?" you asked quietly, mystified by him as you wondered what was concealed beneath that helmet.

Whether or not he intended to answer, a sudden ECHO call interrupted. "Y/n, are ya listenin'?"

"Frigg?" you answered, instantly bristling at the frantic tone of her voice. Upright it your chair, you touched the ECHO-comm device attached to your ear. Tension knotted up your insides. "Is that gunfire?"

"Shit's hittin' the fan! Crimson Raiders were here recruitin'. I told 'em to piss off, but some Hyperion grunts showed up. Now they're havin' a damn war right in the middle of town!"

"What?!" you choked.

"Mind doin' me a favor? Ask our good pal Jack to call off his Loaders. Damn grunts told 'em I was a bandit," Frigg continued, sounding disgruntled and winded from a scuffle. Before you could respond, she shrieked in the same moment you heard a solid impact. It was the metallic clang and heavy thud of a machine landing close by. "Shit! Y/n—"

"Bandit sighted. Bandit death imminent."

"Frigg!" was your distraught cry, but the ECHO had gone silent. Sheer denial prevented you from even considering that she had been murdered by a Loader Bot. A hand belonging to Zer0 gripped your shoulder again. That simple contact reigned in the panic threatening to consume you; he had become your greatest asset.

"Zer0, we're going to Overlook," you declared, aware that he would go wherever you dared to tread.

"Affirmative," he replied, seeming eager to join the action happening on Pandora. You hadn't expected any objection.

Reckless would be putting it lightly. Fast traveling directly to Overlook would put you in the crossfire, but the dire situation called for drastic measures. With haste, you lead the way through the corridors of Helios as Zer0 activated his cloaking technology. Having grabbed your rakk-hide jacket on the way out, you shoved your arms through the sleeves, hoping it would offer some form of protection. Loader Bots would recognize it; at least they wouldn't identify you as a bandit.

"Objective?" Zer0 questioned as you swiped your badge through the fast-travel system, which would record your activity. It was a required function, to keep track of employees. Jack would be alerted soon enough. You would deal with the repercussions later.

"Save Frigg, and de-escalate the situation," you stated, resuming your role as peacekeeper. It wouldn't be your first time interrupting a battle, yet it felt different than previous operations. The absence of Henry made you feel off-kilter. Zer0 would definitely pick up the slack; you had confidence in him, but you were unhinged.

Zer0 nodded to confirm he understood what you required of him. "Ah. Priorities."

In the next instant, you were both materializing in the midst of chaos. Dozens of mangled corpses were strewn across the ground; both Hyperion and the Crimson Raiders were sustaining heavy casualties. Some were riddled with bullets while others were missing various limbs and internal organs. Bloodbath would be appropriate to describe the appalling carnage.

A heavily armored chest collided with your body, effectively knocking you off-balance. With lightning swift reflexes, the experienced assassin secured a long arm around your waist, keeping you on your feet.

"The fuck?" a baffled rebel soldier grunted. He had been dashing across the center of town before you appeared directly in his path. Raising his assault rifle, he aimed it directly at you the moment he spotted the color yellow; your jacket identified you as his enemy.

Swiping the weapon from his belt, Zer0 extended his sword as the blade digistructed before your eyes. He held it as a defensive shield, while simultaneously using it to warn the Crimson Raider not to pull the trigger unless he wanted to be dismembered.

"Vault Hunter?" the Crimson Raider addressed Zer0, recognizing him for some reason. "What're you doing with Hyperion?"

It annoyed you immensely to be brought up in discussion, as if you weren't standing there.

"Y/n, Head of the Department of Pandoran Relations," you introduced yourself quickly, holding your hands up to show the rebel you were non-combatant. "Listen to me. You have to pull out; this will only escalate things with Hyperion. Jack will keep sending Loaders. Please, the people here are still recovering—you're endangering their lives!"

Scowling, the rebel seemed more inclined to shoot you than listen to a word. He eyed your silent companion nervously; Zer0 seemed to be the only factor preventing the man from executing you on the spot. He despised everything Hyperion.

"You want to stop this?" the rebel asked, gesturing widely at the bloodsoaked town. His voice was gruff as he regarded you with an unstable mixture of disgust and pity. "The only way it will end is with Handsome Jack dead in the dust. You want peace, Hyperion? Kill the bastard yourself!"

Opening your mouth to protest against that suggestion, you were suddenly yanked away from the seething rebel soldier. The lean-muscled arm around your waist was joined by another as Zer0 launched you both into the air. Spiraling sideways, he absorbed the brunt of the impact with the ground before the momentum caused you both to roll across the dirt. Not a second after you hit the ground, there was a heart-stopping explosion that showered dust and shrapnel several feet in all directions. Choking as a cloud of disturbed sand surrounded the area, you were aware of Zer0 crouching over you. He maintained his hold on your waist, bent down to one knee while peering over his shoulder.

"Oh god," you choked out, noticing the indistinguishable hunk of flesh lying on the ground next to you. There were bits and pieces scattered in the vicinity; all that remained of the man you had been speaking to, blown apart by a grenade.

Zer0 turned his head back to look down at you. Wordlessly, he lifted two fingers to wipe at something on your cheek.

"Blood," he offered as explanation when you furrowed your eyebrows. After close examination of your face, he concluded, "Not yours."

Struggling to hold down the bile rising in your throat, you dragged the back of your hand over your cheek, but knew it was only smearing the blood further. Witnessing death never got any easier.

"Let's just find Frigg," you told Zer0. It occurred to you that he just saved your life, but you could properly thank him when you weren't surrounded by carnage.

Aided by the helpful assassin, you rose to your feet and took cover behind the wall of a building while you attempted to contact Frigg.

"Where are you? Please answer me, Frigg..." voice constricted, you blinked away tears. The woman had a fiery spirit and intelligence that rivaled those on Helios. During the past week of getting to know her, she proved herself to be resilient and nothing less than a strong fighter. It wasn't in her nature to be so easily defeated. Your next words were spoken in a whisper, "You can't be dead; you're tougher than that."

The ECHO was silent.

"Son of a bitch!" you growled in frustration. Everything had spiraled out of your control. There was no way to get Hyperion to cease fire; the Crimson Raiders sure as hell weren't inclined to lay down and die, either.

Henry would know what to do. He could conjure up plans under extremely stressful circumstances without losing his nerve. Back in Jack's office, he had jerked away as if your touch burned him. It would be safe to say he hated your guts at the moment. Even so, he was the same reliable, kind-hearted man you met five years ago.

Before you could connect to Henry through ECHO communications, someone else spoke. The voice seemed to thrum inside your very skull, as subliminal images of cobalt-blue eyes and a fair-skinned, raven-haired girl invaded your subconscious.

"Please don't freak out. This was supposed to happen."

"Huh...what?"

Disoriented, you wearily pressed a hand to your filth-caked face. There was a disconcerting pins and needles sensation in your brain.What the fuck...who the fuck?

The female voice spoke again, light as a feather in the wind."You must go to Sanctuary. Trust Zer0; he will protect you."

Before you could make sense of what was happening, a loud metallic clanking came from nearby. Shockwaves could be felt under your feet from the thunderous approach.

"Bandit sighted. Detonating."

Zer0 tensed beside you, assuming a battle position. He had been guarding you the whole time, refusing to engage anyone unless they posed a threat. The sudden approach of a Loader Bot clearly excited him.

It was no ordinary Loader Bot. The yellow and black stripes indicated it was of the exploding variety.

You reacted poorly.

"Deactivate!" you shouted desperately, standing far too close to the kamikaze machine. Its red eye fixated on you, perhaps recognizing the Hyperion employee colors, but it was too late to deactivate.

Confusion dominated your semi-conscious mind. The explosion hadn't even registered. One moment you were on your feet, then you were suddenly lying on your back. Zer0 was on top of you. There were audible grunts of pain coming from him, as he struggled to push himself up. The shield secured to his belt sparked, heavily damaged. Holding himself up with one arm, still hunched over you, he touched a hand to his side. There was a gash where something sharp had grazed the flesh. Dark crimson blood dripped, but not in fatal quantities.

"A grievous wound," he said, confusing you.

You were going to tell him not to be over-dramatic. Until you realized he wasn't talking about himself.

Lifting your head slightly, you looked down. Protruding from your abdomen was a hunk of metal, belonging to the self-destructing Loader Bot. Zer0 had leapt in front of you, shielding you from the blast with his own body. Despite that surprisingly noble action, the projectile grazed him only to impale you.

Well shit.


	6. Chapter Five

Hey there. Just a quick thank you to all those who left a review on previous chapters. You're so kind, I appreciate the encouragement and I'm so glad people are enjoying this story.*

"Sanctuary; the stronghold of the resistance. Congratulations, you're the first Hyperion to set foot in the city without being used for target practice. Roland will be eager to meet with you. Try to make a good impression, Ambassador Y/n."

That mild-mannered, disembodied voice passed on some useful advice. Meanwhile, you were preoccupied with preventing your intestines from spilling out. The hunk of metal from the exploding Loader remained lodged in your abdomen. Drenched in blood, the outfit you had invested so much time putting together that morning was ruined.

Fast-travel surely didn't help the nausea; your organs were more than a little distressed. Cradled in the arms of the assassin hired to guard your life, there was nothing you could do but place all of your trust in Zer0. So far, he had established not only his prowess on the battlefield but the genuine dedication he had to keep you alive.

Reliving the erroneous move on your part to approach an active Exploding Loader Bot, it blew your mind—no pun intended—how swiftly Zer0 had been able to react. Somehow he managed to leap between you and the Loader Bot; while his shield absorbed the blast, it was destroyed and unable to deflect the shrapnel.

Luckily the assassin was as quick-witted as he was quick with his sword. He took initiative to inject some Insta-Health serum into your system. A mortal wound like yours required more serum to heal completely, but the portable clinic was disintegrated by acidic rounds that missed their intended target. The small vial was enough to stop the heavy bleeding, but the foreign object was still embedded in your body. There was no removing it by brute force alone; that kind of surgery required a controlled environment and medical training, none of which could be found amidst the battle going on in Overlook.

Zer0 wasted no time in hoisting you off the ground and making a run for the nearest Fast-travel station, which brought you directly to the center of the city no mentally-sound Hyperion would venture.

"The fuck is this?" one of the scruffy residents questioned, his disdain unconcealed. Numerous others were watching with disapproval, as a dying Hyperion was carried through their streets. Droplets of your blood mingled with the other accumulated filth.Funny,you thought. To them, the blood of their enemies contaminated their safe haven, despite its deteriorated condition prior to your arrival.

Ignoring the reproachful remarks of the outlaws and misfits, Zer0 focused on his task of delivering you to the nearest medical practitioner. He navigated the city streets with ease, which meant he frequented Sanctuary. But of course he did; that misfortunate solider addressed him as a Vault Hunter.

In less than a minute since materializing in the city, you were carried through the doorway of Dr. Zed's 24/7 Clinic.

The middle-aged man was rather infamous around Helios. He had taken a stand against Hyperion during Jack's conquest, refusing to vacate Fyrestone despite being the only resident. At least, until Jack dispatched his heavily-armed forces to overtake the place. The good doctor likely figured he wouldn't be much use to anyone full of holes. Aside from that act of defiance, Zed received more than his fair-share of criticism. Aiding rebels made him an enemy of Hyperion, for one. Losing his medical license certainly never stopped him from continuing his medical practices—so there was that. Personally, you had mixed feelings about his...well,illegal operations.

Regardless, he was the only person who could save you from disembowelment.

Hunched over another patient, the man had his attention fully invested in some kind of surgical procedure. The body of the person was immobile, while the good doctor was wrist-deep in their chest cavity.

"Doctor, we require/ your services; a grievous/ wound needs attention."

Previously unaware that he had an audience, Zed visibly tensed as he became defensive. He tilted his head to peer cautiously over his shoulder, and seemed to relax when he recognized the assassin. It was safe to assume he wasn't exactly conducting an operation beneficial to the health of his patient. The person lying on the table was most certainly dead.

"That doesn't look good," Zed surmised, upon observing the metal protruding from your guts. There was a sickening, wet sound as he pried his hands free of the dead man's rib cage. An unceremonious shove from the doctor cleared the operating table. There was a heavy thud as the corpse toppled over onto the floor. The revolting sound of fluids sloshing over linoleum caused you to be sick. Bile spewed from your mouth. You managed to tilt your head, so as to avoid vomiting on yourself and your valiant savior.

Spitting the foul taste out of your mouth, you groaned and allowed your head to rest on Zer0's shoulder. He was unfazed by the fact you had gotten sick; he had surely seen—and been covered in—worse. Zed merely observed from a short distance, furrowing his dark brows while he studied your face. If he recognized you somehow, he didn't announce it.

"Let's have a look then," the doctor recommended in a gruff manner. With a stern gesture, he directed Zer0 to place you on the operating table.

Digging your fingers into the leathery, protective fabric of his suit, you clung onto the assassin. You were less than enthused about lying on the same surface where a dead person just was. Talk about unsanitary; there was no ignoring how the doctor seemed to disregard standard sanitation protocols. A simple glance around the clinic stood as evidence that the man hardly mopped. Who knew if he bothered keeping surfaces and utensils sterile?

"Zer0, listen, I...need to get...back to Helios," you successfully forced out the words. The blood loss made it increasingly difficult to form coherent thoughts. It was a futile effort; you knew it was irrational to waste any more time with traveling. The assassin-turned-bodyguard had his reasons for bringing you to Sanctuary.

Face concealed behind the dark visor of his helmet, there was no way to determine whether or not he considered your wishes.

"No time for that, girl," Zed interjected bluntly, before the assassin could respond. Removing the sullied gloves, he replaced them with a fresh pair; at least he had the decency to do that. "Besides, I patched up these Vault Hunters more than they'd like to admit. Ain't that right, son?"

"Desperation breeds/ rash decisions; I admit / Zed has odd methods," Zer0 said, validating the reservations you had, without completely disagreeing with the unlicensed doctor.

Furrowing his thick black eyebrows, Zed squinted at the assassin for a moment. "What he meant to say was, I can keep your insides...well,inside," he amended, glossing over whatever implications there were to the contrary. "So how 'bout it?"

Clutching the inflamed flesh of your abdomen to hold your organs in, you were in no position to refuse medical attention. Zer0 smoothly stepped over to the operating table, allowing you time to brace yourself before easing you onto its surface. He remained loyally beside you, having no intent on leaving you in the hands of another without supervision.

Standing on the opposite side, Zed ritualistically pushed up his sleeves in preparation.

"Exploding Loader, eh?" he observed, recognizing the yellow and black stripes on the singed hunk of metal. Snatching up a pair of scissors, he pinched the fabric of your blouse at the hem. Lifting the soiled clothing away from your body, he sliced upward to stop just above your navel.

The slight disturbance of the fabric agitated your flesh; the pain was intense. Tears spilled from the corners of your eyes of their own volition, and you clenched your teeth. It was unfathomable to you as to why you were even conscious. You wondered if it was too much to ask for some booze, or perhaps blunt force trauma to the head.

Proceeding with his task, Zed was more careful as he cut away more fabric until your abdomen was exposed. While he had a look of concentration, his brows raised slightly at the sight. "Well that explains why you haven't bled to death. The metal was so hot, it cauterized the wound," the doctor explained, seeming fascinated as he peered in for a closer look. Surely the health serum Zer0 had given you helped, but the blackened flesh around the embedded metal evidenced the doctor's theory.

"Consider yourself lucky, girl..."

"Just...get it...the fuck out of me!" you hissed, lacking the patience to entertain his morbid infatuation with anatomy.

"Not so fast. That'll cause hemorrhaging. And I'm not lyin' to you, it's gonna hurt like a son of a bitch," he cautioned, ghosting his hands over the wound as he pondered how to go about removing the object from a living patient. Reaching over to the tray set up nearby, he grabbed a scalpel; thankfully, it appeared to be sterile. Bringing one hand to place gently on your ribs, Zed instructed your companion gruffly, "Hold 'er down."

Those words caused your muscles to tense up; what was about to happen would be severely unpleasant, to say the least. A four-fingered hand planted down over your sternum, while another ghosted over your brow and smoothed the hair back from your forehead. Lifting your eyes to peer into the dark visor concealing his face, you were unable to utter a single word.

Emotions swelled in your chest, so intense it felt as if you were drowning in them. An inescapable reality had quite literally slugged you in the gut; without you, the Department of Pandoran Relations would crumble. And that wasn't you being egotistical, it was politically accurate. Losing its founder only a year after its birth would be a devastating blow to the department. Henry—despite his irrefutable genius—could never shoulder that much responsibility alone. Upon your and the department's demise, there would be nobody left to maintain peace. Warmongers like Handsome Jack would be left unchecked. Reformed bandit groups would lose incentive to obey Hyperion and revert to their savage ways.

The bloodbath in Overlook was only a preview of what would transpire in your absence.

"Alright, girl, let's get this out now," was the only warning the doctor gave, before going to town with his scalpel.

There was no feeling in the blackened flesh that he sliced, but the connecting tissue protested the movement. A constant burning sensation made it impossible for your mind to wander. Squirming involuntarily, you were held down by the assassin who was much stronger than he looked. Clenching your jaw to the point where you worried about breaking teeth, you were finally able to unclench when the scalpel clattered back onto the tray beside Zed.

"That was the easy part," the doctor muttered. Rolling his bulky shoulders, he proceeded to crack his knuckles and flexed his fingers. Lifting both hands to encircle them around the edges of the metal, he ordered, "Zer0, make sure she doesn't go rolling over. Don't want anything to spill out."

"What?" you cried, feeling the bile rising from your stomach while your eyesight blurred.

There was no further warning. Gripping the hunk of metal on both sides, Zed yanked it free in the same manner he might remove a band-aid. There was no way to contain your shriek of agony; removing the metal was ironically more painful than the moment you were initially impaled. Zer0's hands gripped your shoulders firmly as he leaned over you, using his weight to keep you pinned to the operating table. His helmet blocked your view of the gaping wound in your abdomen, which was probably intentional on his part.

Blacking out, you were blissfully unaware until a hand gripped your chin. The fingers were covered in a viscous substance, and the texture was recognizable as silicone. It took you a moment to realize the hand belonged to Dr. Zed, who was attempting to communicate with you but in your condition, it was difficult to understand his words.

Hardly able to focus your vision, you glanced from the black helmet to the partially masked face of the doctor. He was peering down at you with concern; his eyes were dark, but there was some compassion there despite the rumors that argued to the contrary. The man genuinely wanted to keep you alive.

"Get 'er mouth open," he said, one of the few things you were able to decipher. Zed placed one hand on your shoulder, while holding out a bottle for the assassin to take. While the doctor held you down onto the operating table, Zer0 accepted the responsibility placed upon him.

Rather than prying your mouth open to force-feed you the contents of the bottle, Zer0 slipped a hand underneath to cradle your head. "Drink this," he instructed, placing the bottle gently against your lips to coax you. Conscious enough to know better than to refuse, you managed to wrap your quivering lips around the bottle. You swallowed as the assassin carefully poured the liquid contents into your mouth.

The flavor was tolerable enough that you could gulp it down without gagging. Its healing effects were immediate, as the intense burning dulled to a minor ache. It no longer felt like your intestines were going to spill out. The sensation was more like the aftermath of being punched really hard in the stomach. Not pleasant in any way, but bearable.

Panting heavily, you remained on your back for a moment to fully process what just happened. Zed, on the other hand, had no concept of tact.

"Hard to believe this was just inside ya, huh?" he teased, turning the cursed object in his hands, regarding it like some long lost relic he unearthed. "Mind if I keep it? If it ain't too much trouble, can ya sign it for me? Believe it or not, you're somewhat of a celebrity around Pandora. Handsome Jack's got some competition!"

To say you were appalled wasn't the half of it. Mouth open, you were unsure whether to tell him off or inquire about your celebrity status on Pandora.

"Zed, leave Y/n be, 'fore I shove that thing right up yer ass!"

There was no misidentifying that voice.

Frigg had acquired several cuts and bruises during the chaos. Patches of her copper hair had been singed off. Her green lipstick was smudged across her cheek, along with dirt and traces of crimson where she had wiped blood from her split lip. Something you learned about her recently; she rejected the use of advanced healing serums, preferring to "tough it out" as she succinctly put it. The orange goggles were secured to her face as she stood in the doorway, reminding you of the first time you crossed paths. She was your greatest ally and one of the few people you could trust not to betray you for money or political gain.

"Frigg!" you exclaimed, relieved to see the woman whom you feared to be dead. Aside from the filth and minor abrasions, she otherwise appeared to be in one piece. Pushing yourself off the operating table, you were eager to greet her properly, but the muscles in your legs had been replaced with gelatin. Staggering like a newborn foal, you nearly face-planted on the floor that probably hadn't been scrubbed in weeks.

Reliable as usual, Zer0 caught your waist for the second time in the past hour. He held you steady while you regained your balance. He coolly advised, "Caution."

"Right," you huffed out, pressing a hand to your clammy forehead. Perspiration and filth covered your face, along with smudges of blood; every inch of your body could use a long soak in cleansing, hot water. "You can let go, I'm fine," you assured the assassin-turned-bodyguard, who seemed to hover more closely than he had in Overlook. Perhaps he was concerned about you being snagged by one of the less friendly inhabitants of Sanctuary; someone not obligated to resist the urge to slit your throat.

Zer0 wasn't the only person in the room whose behavior troubled you. During the brief exchange between you and your bodyguard, Frigg remained at a distance with her arms folded. Her goggles shielded her eyes, which made it difficult to tell what she was thinking. There was something standoffish about her posture, as she hadn't moved a muscle to approach or otherwise embrace you.

Frowning, you tentatively placed a foot forward but restrained yourself, deciding to give her the space she wanted. "What is it, Frigg?" you ventured. Despite her tendency to be abrasive and aloof at times, Frigg wasn't allergic to showing affection. You hadn't done anything to push her away; there was something eating at her conscience.

There was a tangible awkwardness as it became evident that everyone in the room knew something you didn't.

Clearing his throat, Zed seemed uncomfortable. Setting the singed, blood-stained hunk of metal down, he excused himself to the back where he proceeded to wash his hands, allowing you to have a more private discussion.

"Soon as I heard some Hyperion was brought here, bleedin' all over, I came runnin' to see for myself," Frigg began, her voice somewhat strained. Heaving a sigh, she shook free of the invisible chains holding her back and finally crossed the room to stand in front of you. "Y/n, I didn't ask for you to put yourself in harm's way like that."

Being chastised for reckless behavior was nothing new for you. Henry often lectured you about how such actions could put the entire department in jeopardy. He and Frigg were both right, of course, but there was no way your conscience would've allowed you to sit idly by while people were being slaughtered senselessly.

"You should've called Henry, then," you fired back, regretting how unkind it sounded immediately. Softening your voice, you amended, "I had to be there, Frigg. You know that."

The vibrant orange hue of her goggles repelled any attempts to read her emotions; she had yet to remove them, which caused you to suspect she wanted to hide something. Regardless of her secrecy, she had no hostility toward you. Sighing, she responded quietly, "Yeah, I know you did."

While there were many unanswered questions that required investigation, you were currently more concerned about what happened to Frigg when the ECHO communication cut off. "So that Loader Bot that attacked you," you prompted, "How did you get out of that one?"

"Have a look," she responded with a bitter laugh, yanking the sleeve of her right arm up to reveal the damage. Her forearm was no longer flesh and bone; it had been replaced by a robotic limb. The mechanics of the arm were designed to resemble bones and ligaments, while there was a smooth plate on the top of the hand. It was all painted black with muted-green accents, but the symbol on the hand was what captured your attention. Painted on the metallic surface was the symbol of the Crimson Raiders' resistance.

There was no conceivable reason your most trusted ally on the entire surface of Pandora would betray the confidence you had in her. Frigg knew throwing in with the rebels would only cause more unrest. You wanted to let her explain herself before jumping to conclusions, but you knew the crime of displaying the symbol was punishable by death. How could she risk being identified as a rebel?

Reaching up to remove her goggles, she briefly lowered her eyes, unprepared to explain herself so soon. "I know what you're thinkin', Y/n. Trust me, I wasn't plannin' on this," she said, attempting to ease you into it.

Whatever her reasons, you couldn't ignore the dreadful feeling in your stomach—and it wasn't just the after effects of being impaled. Shaking your head, you met her eyes with the intent to talk sense into her. "Frigg, come back to Helios with me," you implored, gingerly placing a hand on her shoulder. "I can pull some strings for you. Get you a better cybernetic—"

"You don't get it!" she snapped out of frustration, causing you to fall silent. When you blinked in response to her outburst, she heaved a sigh and smoothed the singed hair on her head with the cybernetic arm gifted to her by the rebels. "A couple Raiders brought me here shortly after we lost contact...One of those damn Loaders got a hold of me. Nearly tore my arm off when it threw me halfway across Pandora. Go figure, I'm out of the crossfire only to land right into a nest of Stalkers. Those bastards would'a had me for lunch, if Crimson Raiders hadn't shot 'em all to hell."

Hearing what she experienced definitely provided a better understanding of why she would throw in with the rebels. Still...

"Next thing I knew, _this_ crazy son of a bitch was hackin' off what was left of my arm!" Frigg continued, jabbing a thumb in the doctor's direction. The man finished washing his hands and had since tasked himself with mopping up the gore left behind from his other patient.

"Still breathin', ain't ya?" Zed countered with a grunt, resenting the implication that his methods were unsavory.

Promptly flipping him the bird, Frigg conveyed just how grateful she was about having her arm amputated so hastily. Rolling her eyes, she shared a sympathetic look with you, knowing you had just as much fun during your own operation.

"Makes sense, I guess," you muttered quietly, folding your arms with an exasperated sigh. "You think you owe them."

Scoffing, Frigg regarded you in a similar manner to when you had first met. Your friendship hadn't changed how she felt about Hyperion. "There's more to it than that, and you know it," she amended, her eyes electrified like storm clouds. "There I was, back at the pub, trying to give the Raiders the boot. Like I told you over the ECHO, they were recruitin' but that was it. Then Hyperion shows up and everything goes to shit!"

Resentment toward Hyperion was essentially part of Pandoran culture, but you could hear something had been ignited within Frigg. It saddened you to see her following such a dangerous path. People have referred to you as an ambassador; while it wasn't an official title, it was your duty to fulfill that role. Diplomacy was something you excelled in, but there were some people who could never be persuaded. You hoped Frigg would rethink her rash decision, before it was too late to avoid retaliation.

"Believe me, as soon as I get back to Helios I'll consult with Henry about the incident in Overlook," you assured her, while she averted her eyes. "Survivors will be relocated to a safer environment. We can still uphold our promise, to help everyone afflicted with skull shivers make full recoveries."

There was no strong reaction from the fatigued woman. She merely took a step backwards, out of your reach, standing with her arms folded. Her grey eyes leveled with yours, the resignation evident; they reminded you of steel doors locking down a fortress. "Play both sides if that's what you want," she replied in a listless tone. "I gave peace a chance. Look how good ol' Jack rewarded me."

Rejection wasn't a foreign concept to you; neither was failure. The feeling that pierced your heart was some hybrid of the two, as you felt the binds of your alliance being severed. Instinct compelled you to cling to what you had, but dignity demanded that you accept the differences between you and your friend. She had her reasons for joining the Crimson Raiders; you had to respect that.

Lowering your eyes in humility, you nodded to show that you wouldn't press the matter any further.

Without anything else left to be said, Frigg turned and moved to depart the clinic. "Oh, yeah," she blurted out, pausing in the doorway to speak over her shoulder. "Roland wants to have a chat with you, before you report back to Jack. Don't miss the chance; he won't be around long."

 _Roland will be eager to meet with you. Try to make a good impression..._ That disembodied voice mentioned the leader of the Crimson Raiders when you arrived in Sanctuary. Putting two and two together, you realized exactly who the voice belonged to.

While you were distracted by your thoughts, Frigg slipped out into the streets of Sanctuary; perhaps she was off to receive her first orders as a member of the resistance. Being inducted into the Crimson Raiders would surely include carrying out tasks for those in command.

A familiar hand gripped your shoulder, pulling your attention to Zer0. He had stood back, quietly observing the exchange between you and Frigg. While he outwardly appeared as stoic as any masked assassin would, you knew him well enough to believe he wasn't emotionless. There was something he wished to get off his chest.

"Zer0, tell me the truth," you prodded lightly, unable to be angry with the one who saved your life twice. "Did Angel tell you to bring me here?"

The assassin remained silent for a moment, perhaps formulating the best way to explain without overwhelming your already exhausted mind. " _My intent was not/ deception; Overlook was/ unplanned. Believe me,_ " he replied.

 _Please don't freak out. This was supposed to happen._ That was what Angel told you when the Crimson Raiders and Hyperion soldiers were engaging in one of the bloodiest battles you had ever witnessed. Earlier in your office, Zer0 informed that the artificial intelligence had somehow contacted and instructed him to guard your life. What could possibly motivate Angel to do something like that? She couldn't have been commanded by Handsome Jack. He would sooner tongue-kiss a Claptrap than hire a Vault Hunter to be your bodyguard.

Angel must've acted autonomously. Which begged the question: what compelled her to defy Jack by employing one of his sworn enemies to protect _you_ , the Head of the Department of Pandoran Relations? None of these mysteries would be solved, unless you played along with whatever scheme she was orchestrating. Meeting with Roland was the first step in the right direction.

"Do me a favor, Zer0," you requested, adjusting your partially-singed, blood-spattered rakk-hide jacket.

" _Yes_."

His automatic response amused you. He would do whatever you required of him, but you wanted to treat him as an equal rather than a servant. Determined to uncover the truth behind the events that lead you there, you said, "Show me where I can find Roland."


	7. Chapter Six

Confronting the leader of the Crimson Raiders, without explicit authorization from Handsome Jack, was a direct violation of protocol. Fraternizing with the enemies of Hyperion was, by all accounts, considered treason. Being the Head of the Department of Pandoran Relations, it was in your job description act as the mediator in all disputes between Hyperion and those who inhabited the planet. That granted you diplomatic immunity. Of course, you weren't exempt from the wrath of a certain, devilishly-handsome dictator with deep-rooted trust issues.

Keeping in mind that you narrowly escaped death numerous times in the last hour, you proceeded while the honor-bound assassin guided you toward the headquarters of the resistance.

Tucked in an alley behind the epicenter of the city, the building was guarded by two well-armed individuals. One stood upright with his muscular arms folded, gun holstered as he dutifully watched over the streets. Meanwhile, his slim counterpart lounged at the foot of the steps, fiddling with her rifle; the blue glow and shining silver finish suggested it was a powerful, electrically-charged, rare-quality weapon. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, until you recognized the woman.

 _This is gonna get ugly..._

An interplanetary bounty-hunter, the twenty-something year old woman had ripped apart entire bandit clans searching for wanted criminals. Her name was Rian, which could very well be an alias. She and her twin brother, Gunner, arrived on Pandora shortly after Handsome Jack decimated the population of New Haven. With the planet overrun with bandits, the siblings seized the opportunity to make Pandora their new hunting grounds. Handsome Jack tolerated their presence, on the condition that they wiped out as many bandits as they could. Ten months ago, you had the misfortune to encounter the bloodthirsty siblings during your early campaigning out in The Dust.

Mid-stride, you halted, resisting the urge to take cover behind the nearest waste bin. A mere step ahead, Zer0 noticed your hesitation and slightly pivoted on his heel. He turned half-way around so as to keep you and the objective destination in sight. Cocking his head to the side, a question mark displayed over his helmet to convey his puzzlement.

"Well, look what the skag shat out," came the vindictive taunt; Rian recognized you immediately, causing your guts coil into ominous knots. Her pouty, pink-glossed lips drew back into a sneer before she lifted her rifle to casually line up the cross-hairs with your forehead.

Instantaneously, the vigilant assassin removed the sword from his belt and positioned himself as a protective barrier between you and the sniper. There was a crackling sound as Zer0 deflected the bullet with the blade of his sword, which absorbed the electric current. With his shield destroyed, there was nothing to protect him from the elemental effect. A low growl came from within his helmet; he endured the pain of the charge with unwavering discipline.

Not quite recovered from the traumatic experience moments earlier, you were unable to react or move a single muscle. Someone just attempted to murder you in cold blood, and you hadn't been in Sanctuary longer than fifteen minutes.

While you remained frozen in place, Zer0 moved to retaliate against the woman who nearly sent you to an early grave. Simultaneously, the Crimson Raider stationed nearby lunged to wrestle the rifle from the woman. He received a ruthless punch directly to the throat, rendering him pretty much useless as he staggered away, choking. Rather than aiming to fire another shot, Rian shouldered the strap to let the rifle hang behind her back.

Promptly resuming her place at the bottom of the steps, she grinned with wicked amusement; wreaking havoc was her favorite pass-time. The cotton-candy hue of her pixie-cut hair, and her pretty face, misled countless unsuspecting men straight to a shallow grave. Rian was the type who delighted in toying with her prey; poor Henry had the scars to prove it.

"New boyfriend?" she inquired, briefly making eye contact with you before regarding the assassin with keen interest, biting her lip in a not-so-subtle display of attraction. "Got sick of tall, dark and nerdy, huh? Can't say I blame you. This one's an upgrade, if you ask me."

Her insulting your best friend, and coming onto your bodyguard, snapped you out of the trauma-induced stupor. More than a little offended, you scowled. At the moment, you had no tolerance for the likes of a bounty hunter with a cruel streak.

"No one asked you, Rian. Henry wasn't—isn't—my boyfriend, and neither is Zer0," you clarified, if only to spite her. Noting how the assassin refused to step aside, prepared to deflect any further attacks, you reached up to place a hand on his shoulder. Whether or not it comforted him, there was no way to tell.

Leveling a cold stare at Rian, you decided to divulge the information, "He's escorting me to see Roland. What business do you and Gunner have in Sanctuary? I assume he's lurking around somewhere."

Entertained by the fact she had gotten under your skin, Rian cackled to herself. "You're such a tight ass!" she teased, observing the tension of your posture. "Quit hiding behind your boy toy, Y/n. I knew he'd take a bullet for you. How much of a dumbass do you take me for? Think I want a bounty on _my_ head? Pissing off Jack is not on my list of things to do today."

Her words made sense, logically; none of it changed the resentment you had toward her. All the same, you boldly emerged from behind Zer0. He must've taken a vow of silence sometime during the excitement, because he hadn't uttered a single haiku to express whatever was going on in his head.

Ghosting your footsteps, he ensured no one could catch you in the back while you cautiously approached the steps of the Crimson Raiders' headquarters. The guard, who had since recovered from the blow to his bronchial tube, leaned against the wall looking displeased with life in general. It was safe to assume he was humiliated by the fact he was so easily beaten into submission. You felt bad for the poor guy; he'd never live it down.

"You didn't answer my question," you reminded Rian, standing at the foot of the steps slightly out of her reach. Being close to her made your heart pound harder than normal, but you clung to your dignity.

Lips curling into a smirk, she leaned back on her elbows and peered up at you with her head cocked to the side. Her eyes were gleaming in a way that made you nervous. "Roland invited us."

That was perplexing. "Why?" you prodded further, placing your hands on your hips.

"Don't know. Don't care," she dead-panned, before shoving herself upright. The woman had at least seven inches over you, forcing you to tilt your head back just to meet her devious hazel eyes. They were harsh and unsympathetic, digging up memories that were better left buried in the dark recesses of your mind.

"My brother's the sentimental one. Remember? Be sure to thank him for convincing me not to blow your head off back in The Dust."

Unlike his name suggested, Gunner was the least homicidal of the two. Something you would never be able to forget...

A four-fingered hand seemed to materialize out of nowhere, gripping your shoulder firmly. Both you and Rian looked to Zer0, who had been watching and listening to the exchange in silence until that point. He must've disliked the way the bounty hunter invaded your personal space.

"It's fine. I'm fine," you told him, briefly glancing in his direction. Relieved when Rian backed off, you were able to breathe normally. With a self-satisfied chuckle, she turned on her heel and began to walk off.

"I'm over it," she scoffed, waving her hand dismissively while she strutted her long legs. Over her shoulder, she called, "Tell Gunner I'll be at the bar. Catch you later, Y/n."

You truly despised the woman. There were many unfriendly things you could shout back at her, but none of them were worth a bullet.

Once Rian disappeared around the corner, Zer0 returned his sword to his hip and relaxed, sensing the danger had gone. Peering down at you, he inquired in his oddly-distorted voice, " _Who was that woman?_ "

"Long story..." you muttered, feeling thoroughly demeaned after the unpleasant reunion. Running a hand through your tangled mess of hair, which was caked with traces of blood and dirt, you found yourself fantasizing about a soothing, hot shower.

" _Should I eliminate her_?" The question reminded you that he specialized in cold-blooded murder.

"No!" was your automatic response, appalled by the question. Inhaling deeply, you sighed and answered more calmly, "I mean...No, thank you. That's not how I handle my problems, Zer0."

Assessing your words, the assassin nodded appreciatively. " _I can respect that_."

Smirking at that, you shook your head. Whoever he was beneath that helmet of his, you were grateful for his companionship.

Warm and fuzzy feelings aside, you were apprehensive about meeting with Roland. The presence of two of Pandora's most ruthless bounty hunters created a sense of foreboding. What could Roland possibly want from them, other than bribing them to join the resistance against Hyperion as mercenaries? Perhaps that was exactly what he hoped to accomplish, after sustaining such heavy losses while Jack had an entire army at his disposal. You could hardly blame the Commander of the Crimson Raiders for being desperate, but hiring mercenaries—for a cause dedicated to freedom-fighting—seemed dishonorable.

What if that was the reason behind Angel employing Zer0 to be your guard-slash-escort? She needed you to intervene. Rian and Gunner would definitely be labeled as traitors, if Jack ever caught wind of them evenconsideringto accept money from Roland to fight against Hyperion forces. The real mystery was: what could _you_ do that would be more effective than Angel simply tipping Jack off so he could eliminate the threat?

The crafty artificial intelligence had some agenda of her own. You were dying to know what that entailed.

Hanging around outside the building wouldn't get you any results. Breathing in deeply, your controlled exhale released all the worries and woes clouding your mind. Ascending the stairs to the door, you stepped back into the role of the experienced ambassador intent on smoothing over conflict. Slipping lithely ahead of you, Zer0 opened the door; he was the most polite killer you ever met.

Inside, there were a few beds and lockers off to the left; to the right was a desk that might have been a reception area, but there was nobody there to greet you. Toward the back was an area where clothing could be washed and dried; unfortunately, you had no time to take advantage. Zer0 had strolled ahead, leading the way up the concrete stairs. You followed, fidgeting with your blouse, which had been ruined when you were impaled. The charcoal grey fabric was caked with dried blood and slashed to expose your stomach, where a newly-acquired scar was visible. As for your signature yellow rakk-hide jacket, it was spattered with blood and covered in dirt. Fortunately, things on Pandora were different than Helios. Nobody gave a damn about appearances, so long as you didn't pull a gun on them or steal their belongings.

Once you cleared the steps, you overheard two men speaking in hushed, strained tones; both were angry but trying to remain civil, or at least avoid attracting eavesdroppers. Pausing in the adjacent room, which doubled as a lounging area and storage vault, Zer0 extended his arm to block you from advancing further. The tension in the atmosphere was palpable.

Rolling your eyes at the over-protective nature of the assassin, you lightly grasped and lowered his arm because it obscured your view. Two men stood hunched over a table opposite each other, in a heated discussion. Easily recognizable by his faded blue grenadier cap and dark skin, Roland sported a stern frown and severely-knotted brow; whatever words being exchanged, none pleased him.

The other man returned Roland's intense stare with one of his own, though he seemed less upset. In his late twenties, the younger man was just as tall if only slightly leaner in muscle mass than the commander. Bronze stubble lined his jaw and wavy dark blonde hair flowed close to his highly-defined shoulders. A black cowboy hat was placed on the table in front of him; the thing was charred and torn, but he never parted with it. Twin pistols were holstered at his belt; one emitted the mystifying blue glow of electricity, and the other fiery orange. Gunner wasn't as prone to senseless violence as his twin sister, but they shared plenty of common traits that made him dangerous.

The commander and bounty hunter had yet to realize their conversation was no longer private.

"I know you're afraid of Jack," Roland spoke quietly, his tone sympathetic. "You'd be an idiot if you weren't. I can't ask you to endanger your life for the cause, but I can ask you this: What do you think happens if Jack wins? No more bandits. No more Crimson Raiders. Make no mistake, my friend. Jack will eliminate _everyone_ who poses a threat to his empire. That means you, and Rian."

Momentarily bowing his head as he braced himself against the table, Gunner seemed to accept the truth of those words. The pensive and vulnerable expression on his face reminded you of the incident back in The Dust. His better judgement rivaled with the expectations of his twin sister, who had no compassion for anyone, perhaps not even him. Whether or not Roland's words resonated in his mind, Gunner drew back from the table and squared his hulking shoulders.

"Save it, Roland. You might'a convinced those weak-minded drones out there to sacrifice themselves," Gunner said, gesturing toward the balcony overlooking the city street where Raiders patrolled and loitered. Planting a hand on his broad chest, the bounty hunter continued, "But I'm not like them. You should haul ass off this ugly rock while you've got the chance. Jack won't follow you. You know that, but you're too goddamn stubborn to cut your losses."

Pausing as a grimly-composed Roland straightened his back, Gunner shook his head in disgust. His next words were scathing, "How many of your friends need'ta die screamin', before you swallow your pride?"

Roland, who had taken the verbal thrashing without flinching, turned his head to avert his eyes then. His arms seemed to hang limp by his sides; no rage boiled beneath the surface, but guilt was evident as he made no attempt to defend himself.

Unimpressed, Gunner folded his arms and gave him one last disapproving once-over. "Consider us even. Rian and I could be shot just for accepting your invitation to meet here. This is goodbye, Roland. Don't call us again; we won't answer."

Retrieving the battle-worn cowboy hat, Gunner firmly placed it atop his head. Tipping the blackened, threadbare brim in a gesture of farewell, he prepared to see himself out.

Panic jolted your pulse into a frantic beat the instant Gunner turned in your direction. While you knew he wouldn't shoot you on sight, it would be foolish not to consider him a threat. He had a lot to lose if any Hyperion employee caught him in Sanctuary. Gunner bristled and widened his eyes at the sight of you and your far more intimidating companion. Shock quickly wore off once he recognized you, and his lips quirked into a smile. He approached, causing Zer0 to extend his hand outwards; a signal for him to halt, or suffer the consequences. The bounty hunter raised an eyebrow but decided to stop short of you, his hostile mood having shifted to mild amusement.

"Funny runnin' into you here, darlin'," Gunner greeted respectfully, the polar opposite of his sister when it came to pleasant social interaction. Reaching up to casually scratch at the stubble on his chin, he ventured, "Reckon you heard all that just now?"

"I heard enough," you responded, crossing your arms while taking a step closer to him. Zer0 lingered slightly behind, keeping a watchful eye over the situation. Meeting the hazel eyes that were infinitely less terrifying than Rian's predatory stare, you explained, "I'm here on official business. As long as you don't interfere, there's no reason to mention your name in my report."

Smiling appreciatively, Gunner picked up the implication his meeting with Roland would be kept secret on your part. "Well, allow me to get out'a your way, then," he smiled, stepping aside and waving you on graciously. Before you could take a step, he raised a finger, imploring you to hold on a moment longer.

"You didn't happen to see where my sister wandered off to, did you?" he asked hopefully.

"She mentioned the bar," you replied, seeing no reason to withhold the information.

Gunner sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Goddamn, I can't take that woman anywhere," he groaned, as you bit back a smirk. When he dropped his hand, he curiously scrutinized the silent assassin who had become your shadow. "Your friend don't say much, does he?" he commented, more amused than unnerved.

"Not unless he has something to say," you answered; Zer0 merely folded his arms, allowing you to do the talking.

"I see. The silent type," Gunner chuckled, eyeing him with keen interest before returning his gaze to you. "Well, your discretion's much appreciated, Y/n. Take care now, darlin'."

With a respectful nod of farewell to Zer0, Gunner moved past you and descended the steps, off to hunt down his trouble making twin.

Having post-poned inevitable confrontation with Roland long enough, you looked to Zer0. With an encouraging nod from the assassin, you proceeded into the next room where Roland had isolated himself since his conversation with Gunner ended. Braced over the edge of the balcony, he beheld the cramped and crowded city beyond. Aware he had company, the commander shifted on his feet to face you. The haunted fog over his eyes was quickly replaced by a warm smile and his expression softened into what might be called admiration.

"I knew you'd show up, sooner or later," he stated, sounding almost relieved. "Where are my manners. Sorry," he apologized, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly before pulling himself away from the balcony. He strolled closer and extended his hand; you privately marveled at how, well, large he was up close. The posters plastered across Pandora, and the wild stories told by the locals, all painted an unrealistic image of him. It was humbling to meet the man behind the face of the resistance; much like Handsome Jack, he was just a man with an enormous, almost godlike reputation to live up to.

Accepting his hand, you shook politely while his grip was oddly tentative.

"Roland, it's a pleasure," you smiled, hoping the words didn't seem too forced. Everything you had endured leading up to the meeting had been draining.

"The pleasure is mine," he amended, placing a hand on his muscular chest. "I'm glad to see you pulled through. Zed might be, uh...less _conventional_ than you're used to, but he's all we've got."

Reliving that experience wasn't something you wanted to do. Changing the subject, you decided to get straight to the point with, "Does the name Angel mean anything to you?"

Bristling at the name, Roland seemed to go through several emotions while doing his best not to show it. "Yes, it sure does," was his response, not at all fond of the A.I. "She likes to meddle. Let me guess; she told you to come here."

"She did," you confirmed, unsure how to feel about the information you were getting. "Any idea why?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Ambassador," Roland said with a shrug. "We don't trust her. Not after the way she manipulated us."

Glancing back at Zer0, who lingered in the doorway away from the conversation, you wondered what he thought of Angel. She had instructed him to infiltrate Helios for the purpose of protecting you from some unspecified threat, with the ultimate goal of escorting you to Sanctuary. Was there something else he neglected to mention, or was he in the dark as well?

"Whatever her reasons are, you're here," Roland pointed out, folding his arms while he directed a glance in the assassin's direction. "Thank you for escorting the Ambassador safely, soldier," the commander spoke, revealing that he knew Zer0 after all.

Nodding, Zer0 picked up on the cue for him to leave. He raised his hand and waggled his fingers at you in a gesture of farewell, having accomplished his mission. Without further delay, he literally vanished. Admittedly, you were saddened to see your partnership end. Still, you were confident you would see him again.

"This meeting is long overdue," Roland continued once the two of you were alone. Lightly touching your arm, he gestured toward the doorway and said, "Please, walk with me. There's something I want to show you."

Following anyone anywhere without someone else to watch your back was dangerous. Nevertheless, you trusted that Roland was more honorable, or at least smarter, than the bloodthirsty criminals overrunning the planet. "Lead the way," you replied, already feeling more vulnerable in the absence of your former bodyguard.

Nodding with a genuine smile, Roland strolled ahead at a pace you could keep up with. At the bottom of the stairs, he waited for you and held out his hand to lightly touch your upper-back. "Best stick close to me. There are new faces every day, not all friendly," he advised.

"That's comforting," you remarked sarcastically. "I'm used to people trying to kill me, at this point."

Chuckling a bit, Roland lead on and you followed close-by. While you walked the streets of Sanctuary, your eyes strayed to the sky as they often did when you were separated from Henry. The blue eye of Helios glowed more vibrantly in the dusk, which arrived sometime while you were inside the Crimson Raiders' headquarters. Somewhere on the station, your friend was likely tearing out his hair as he anxiously waited to hear from you. Guilt had been festering inside, ever since Henry was used as a tool of interrogation against you. What if he was being punished for your unauthorized activity in Overlook?

Whatever was happening on Helios in your absence, you couldn't allow the unknown to interfere with your field work. There was nothing you could do until you returned after finishing your business with Roland in Sanctuary.

"Everything okay?"

Pulling your attention back to your surroundings, you realized that you had fallen behind Roland. The commander had turned to study you with his brows furrowed in concern.

"No," you replied honestly, knowing he wouldn't believe the automatic claim you were fine. "Sorry, I'm right behind you."

Roland awkwardly stood there for a moment, not quite sure what to say or if any efforts to console you would work. "Right then," he said, after clearing his throat quietly. "This way," he instructed, waving you along before strolling onward.

Berating yourself for lowering your guard like that, you hastened to catch up with the much taller Roland. When he stopped at the end of the street, he half-turned to wait and gestured for you to enter the doorway first. Overhead, a haphazardly nailed sign marked the entrance to Marcus' Munitions. You were less than eager to see that man in the flesh, and confused as to why Roland would direct you to an arms-dealer.

Saving your questions, you descended the steps into the dingy bowels of the dimly-lit shop. Sure enough, the man called Marcus was seated behind the register; metal bars separated him from any customers who might wander in with ill intent. Doing your best not to grimace as you noted the blood stains on the floor and walls, you waited for Roland to make his way down.

"Ah, welcome, welcome!" Marcus greeted you in particular, extending his arms as if to embrace you through the bars. "What a pleasure to meet the most famous woman on Pandora! Can I get you to sign one of my guns? Or better, _all_ of my guns? Eh?"

"Not this again," Roland sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Marcus, no one wants to sign your guns."

"Bah! You just love to crush my dreams. I didn't hear a no," the man grinned, waggling his brows at you.

"I don't do autographs," you told him, deciding that you were definitely annoyed by the idea of being a celebrity. Perhaps it was all the sleep deprivation and near-death experiences that provoked you to add, "But I'm sure if you asked Jack, he'd love to."

The mention of the infamously violent dictator immediately changed the atmosphere of the room. Marcus blinked as if that was the last thing he expected you to say. He glanced at Roland, seeking some kind of explanation for your well-placed jab, but the commander offered no help. Seeing there was no way to dig himself out of that hole, Marcus let out an obnoxious guffaw.

"Well, maybe next time you swing by, eh?" the arms-dealer prompted, before dropping the matter entirely. "What can I do for you, then?"

Roland chose that moment to step forward, resting his hand on the counter as he leaned toward the bars to level his eyes at the man. "Show her the thing," he ordered, his tone slightly lowered.

Marcus furrowed his thick brows as he briefly glanced over at you, then conspiratorially leaned closer to Roland. "Are you sure she can _handle_ the thing?" he questioned, like a concerned grandfather who ignored the fact you could hear every word.

Stepping closer, you folded your arms and narrowed your eyes at the two men. "What thing?" you asked, unable to contain your irritation over the secrecy.

Roland rubbed the back of his neck; a thing he did whenever he was nervous. "Sorry. Follow Marcus, I'll be right behind you," he said, stepping aside while he pushed open a door leading to an area deeper into the shop.

"What the boss said," Marcus grunted, beckoning with a lazy wave before disappearing into the back.

Sighing, you decided to play along and passed by the commander. Toward the back of the shop was a shooting range. Marcus stood waiting there. Once Roland had closed the door behind him, Marcus turned and you followed with the commander not far behind. The arms-dealer lead you into what could only be called an armory. Retrieving a small box from one of the shelves, he turned back to you with a wide grin on his face.

"This beauty was a pain in the ass to get. But Roland ordered it himself. Anything for our fearless leader, eh? Go on, take a peek," Marcus prompted, holding the box for you to open.

Casting Roland a perplexed glance, you waited for some kind of explanation. Determined to be all mysterious, he made a small hand gesture for you to look for yourself. Lifting your hand calmly, you unlatched the box and pushed the hinged lid back. Nestled inside of a velvety, cushioned material was...

"A pen?" you observed in confusion, grasping it carefully between your thumb and index finger as you removed it from the box. Holding it in your palm, you studied the object you were infinitely more skilled in using over weapons. As far as pens went, it was quite lovely.

"Careful!" Roland warned, reaching out as if you were handling an explosive. When you blinked at him, baffled, he cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. "Just, uh, don't jab yourself," he cautioned, only magnifying your suspicion.

"Pure gold?" you asked, noticing how heavy it was by pen standards.

"Not quite, but you were close," Marcus stated, his eyes gleaming with pride at having come into possession of such a priceless object. "The _casing_ is solid gold. The tip is pure diamond; sharp enough to cut through any surface, if one applies enough pressure. The ink, well, that's the best part," he grinned wider, nodding his head toward Roland, "He can tell you."

Folding his arms, Roland gave the arms-dealer a stern look before leveling his eyes with yours. "I know this might be hard for you to consider, but hear me out, and you're free to go," the commander began, his tone perhaps too light as he tried not to come off as over-bearing. "We need you to give the pen to Jack."

"Or you could stab him with it; same effect but way more entertaining for story-time," suggested Marcus with another guffaw, which he quickly stifled when Roland deadpanned.

Staring at the pen in your hand, the harmless object suddenly became a deadly weapon. "Hold on...are you suggesting that I _assassinate_ Handsome Jack?"

Roland seemed uncomfortable, but he had obviously given it enough thought if he brought you to Marcus.

"Bandits are a problem for all of us. But tell me, do you think a man like Jack is any different? Do you think he should be allowed to slaughter unarmed men, women, and children without facing justice?" the commander asked, stepping closer to you as his passion took over.

War crimes were a subject you were well-informed on. Nobody had to explain whom you were affiliated with. "Roland," you spoke coolly, knowing exactly where he was going with his speech.

Roland placed his large hands on your shoulders, peering straight into your eyes as he implored, "Please consider the advantages you have over all of us down here. You might be Hyperion, but you are our greatest ally on that space station. Handsome Jack will not stop until he wipes us all off the face of Pandora."

Closing your eyes, it took immeasurable restraint for you to keep calm. What was being asked of you was unfair, to put it lightly.

Roland could tell you were becoming upset, so he attempted to smooth things over, "I know you're a pacifist, and I respect that. The pen is a gift to you; it's your decision what to do with it. All I ask is that your choice benefits the greater good."

Among the cruelest of men, Handsome Jack held the title as the most powerful and influential. Regardless of how much you abhorred his heavy-handed methods of retaliation against bandit clans, not to mention the atrocity committed in New Haven, you were no assassin. The very thought of having blood on your hands made you feel like dry-heaving into a bucket.

"Roland, what you're asking me to do goes against the oath I took when I founded the Department of Pandoran Relations," you informed him as calmly as you could, while struggling with the inner turmoil. "My job is to facilitate peace and encourage cooperation with Hyperion, not murder politicians."

"Fair enough," Roland nodded out of respect, removing his enormous hands from your shoulders. Disarmed, he stepped back, permitting you to have personal space. Disappointed but no less companionable, he said, "I won't force you. Thank you for your consideration, Ambassador. It was an honor to have this opportunity, I hope we can speak again soon. Zer0," he addressed the formerly-undetected assassin, who had appeared as if on cue. "Make sure no one gives her trouble on her way out, soldier," he instructed.

Zer0 saluted in a manner that could only be sarcastic, which caused Roland to roll his eyes.

"Thank you for having me, Commander," you recited the formality with genuine feeling, but the fatigue strained your voice. Roland nodded and attempted a smile, but the heavy burden on his own mind made it a sad expression. Once he departed, Marcus cleared his throat to catch your attention.

"Take the box for safe-keeping," he suggested amicably. Marcus seemed unsure whether you would accept it; when you reluctantly did, he smiled. "Hey, between you and me, that Roland comes off way too strong. He's not a bad guy, though. Saved my life."

"I know," you replied quietly, as you placed the pen into the small box with extreme care. "I heard the stories."

"Well, then I won't bore you with telling it again," Marcus said, before he paused in thought. "Roland was right, you have the upper-hand over that egomaniac. Best you realize it before good old Jack does, eh?"

Meeting his eyes, you could tell he was trying to warn you to tread carefully once you returned to Helios. Nobody had to tell you about the dangers of navigating the corporate hell that was Hyperion, but it was good to know that people were on your side. Even if they were trying to convince you to murder your boss.

Comforted by the presence of Zer0 once more, you followed his lead to the Pierce Station in silence. While you were eager for a long shower once you could retire to your apartment, there were things you wanted to say to the unlikely hero who saved your life multiple times in the same day. When he pivoted on his heel to face you, the impulse to embrace him couldn't be resisted. He was unprepared and momentarily paralyzed, but after a moment of hesitation you felt him place both hands on your back.

Pulling away from his body, you tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear. A heart emoticon appeared over his head, making you blush; it would be a lie if you said you weren't somewhat attracted to him after everything.

"I just wanted to thank you, for rescuing me," you explained, a bit embarrassed that you hadn't warned him before going in for the hug. "I know you probably got paid for it, but that doesn't matter. I appreciate it."

" _Call me whenever/ you require companionship./ Payment; not needed_."

It was reassuring to know he could be depended upon without monetary gain as the incentive. "I'll remember that," you told him with an appreciative smile. "Stay safe, okay?"

A smiley-face emoticon displayed over his helmet. Good enough for you.

Mentally preparing yourself for whatever hell awaited, you pulled the employee I.D. card from its place secured to your pants and swiped it over the receiver. The surreal feeling of being dematerialized was nauseating in your condition. When your boots planted firmly on solid flooring, you opened your eyes.

 _Oh, fuck._

Rather than materializing in the domestic quadrant of Helios where the employee apartments were located, you were transported directly into the territory you planned to avoid. Handsome Jack's office.

"Hey there, pumpkin. How was your stay with the rebel scum?"


	8. Attention: Story Revised!

**Hello! I hope all is well with you lovely people. Just a small announcement to whomever it may concern. I have revised all of the chapters currently posted. So if you noticed any inconsistencies, typos, or anything else that confused or bothered you, I fixed them. You might want to reread, if you haven't already prior to this announcement (I know I reread fanfictions on this site like crazy, waiting for updates). I wrote most of the original drafts in a sleep-deprived state, so apologies!**

 **Also, it should be made clear this story is AU so don't expect it all to line up exactly with the game. Slight (perhaps major) variations from the canon universe, considering the influential characters that exist in my story. The plot will thicken! More Jack, and company, to come!**

 **One more thing: I** ** _might_** **take some time to write another version of this story in third-person, with an OC. If that's something folks would be interested in. No promises. This is all in good fun. I will be continuing this reader POV version, regardless.**

 **I appreciate all of your favorites, follows, and wonderful comments! Thank you all :)**


	9. Chapter Seven

***Hello there, readers! I put a lot of love into this chapter, so I hope you enjoy it. :) Sexual situations ahead. Be prepared. That is all.***

Looming perilously over the precipice of a mental breakdown, you had absolutely zero energy to handle the browbeating you were about to be subjected to. Briefly, you pondered over the perfectly-viable option of sidestepping Handsome Jack without acknowledging his presence whatsoever.

That could end in two entirely different ways. He might be so flabbergasted by the feeling of being invisible that he would cease to function. Or, he would brutally murder you in some morbidly spectacular display of self-validating violence. The former would be hilarious enough to revive some life into your body. As for the latter; the unappealing prospect served as a sufficient incentive to give Jack the attention he craved.

"Handsome Jack, sir," was you pre-programmed greeting. Slowly, you turned to brave the impending fit of rage. The simple motion nearly caused you to topple over, as your legs struggled to balance your bodyweight. The Insta Health serum had officially left your system, taking the adrenaline rush and soothing effects along with it.

Muscular arms flexing as they were folded over his broad chest, Jack must've been reciting some kind of menacing speech upon your return to Helios. Employing the security override he had, he programmed the fast-travel system to re-route in the event that you used your employee identification badge. Thus, ensuring you would be delivered right into his office. Whatever he planned to do in retaliation for your misconduct—having broken the terms and conditions of your employment—something distracted him.

The instant you turned, his previously-glowering eyes widened and his tightly-screwed jaw unhinged in shock.

"What in the ever-loving fuck happened to you? I mean, holy shit," he exclaimed. He ineffectively pressed a clenched fist over his lips to contain a very obvious fit of laughter.

Mocking the pain and suffering of others might have been some messed up coping mechanism, developed over years of living in a chaotic and tremendously violent environment. However, you weren't a certified psychotherapist. So, you weren't under any obligation to give him leniency for being an asshole.

Unamused by his insensitive giggling, you pouted your lips so as to avoid scowling. He better have appreciated the fact your pacifist nature was the only thing preventing you from slugging him on the jaw. Arms folded rigidly, you concealed how offended you really were. It was a challenge not to fire off a scathing remark. At least if he was entertained, he would hold off on beating you senseless.

"One of your Loader Bots exploded and part of it impaled me," you responded, in a manner similar to the robot in question. Human speech became increasingly tedious with every second you were forced to linger. Averting your eyes, you added listlessly, "I'm alive, though. So there's that."

Unexpectedly, you felt the warmth of his hand brushing over the skin of your exposed stomach. While you were explaining the unfortunate event of your nearly-fatal injury, Jack reached out with a child-like curiosity. He lacked the restraint necessary in normal human interaction; relating to others wasn't his strongest personality trait.

"And now you have a badass scar. Silver lining, right?" Jack offered as consolation.

Under any other circumstances, you would have jumped back or slapped his hand away like it was a venomous serpent. The rational part of your mind decided you were simply too exhausted to bother. He was just harmlessly moving the fabric of your ruined blouse aside, inspecting the three-inch-long scar marking the flesh over your navel.

Curved and jagged, the discolored tissue resembled what could be the remnants of a celestial body, floating in the wake of a world-ending catastrophe. Curiosity begged the question; what did it look like to Jack?

The ruthless Dictator of Pandora was smiling. Not in the misleading way that foreshadowed death, or the malevolent grin of a man who delighted in tormenting lesser mortals. There was no malice tightening his lips, nor was there any ill-intent behind his eyes. After all the physical and emotional trauma that would most definitely cause you night-terrors, it was a relief that Jack wasn't being an insufferable dickhead. Reminiscent of the expression he wore earlier, when he returned your bracelet, he seemed almost kind.

Disconcerted by the ambiguous look on your face, Jack frowned and began to retract his hand. Perhaps he thought he had overstepped boundaries. Before your rational self could reign in your impulsive and daring alter-ego, you caught his hand. His brows lifted at your brazen action. He had all the strength to jerk free if he wanted, but he allowed you to guide his hand back to your stomach.

Something about the genuine awe on his face inexplicably turned you on. The fact you could elicit such a reaction from a man in his position was empowering. Remaining where he stood, Jack proceeded to stroke his fingertips over the sensitive flesh and scar tissue. The heat radiating from his hand and skin-on-skin contact was therapeutic. Eyes fluttering closed, you subconsciously leaned your hips forward. Funny, how such a simple touch could be so enjoyable.

Another hand ventured to your face, caressing your cheek to encourage you to open your eyes. Jack had stepped closer to you, his chest only a couple inches apart from yours while he captivated you with a smoldering gaze.

"Kiss me," he prompted in a low, sensual voice. It was more of a suggestion than a command. Unlike the first time your lips met, he was giving you the power to consent or refuse.

The list of reasons not to kiss Handsome Jack could be written in-depth and published in several volumes, detailing every act of depravity and disregard he had shown for human life. Yet there was a mutual attraction between you that was as impossible to ignore as it was to explain. It defied all conventional laws of reason entirely.

To hell with being rational.

Forsaking all your inhibitions, you snagged hold of his jacket collar. Tugging him down so you wouldn't need to stand on your tip-toes, you captured his lips with unrestrained fervor. For a mind-blowing moment, he held still and allowed you to control the kiss. You took advantage of his temporary vulnerability, stealing his breath like he had done to you. Then his hand slid from your stomach to encircle his arm around your waist. Leaving your cheek, his other hand wove into the hair at the nape of your neck. His tongue requested entry, which you granted. A small moan escaped you as his tongue massaged over yours. He imitated your moan with a deeper, more masculine sound that was closer to a growl, tightening the arm around your waist so your heels were lifted off the floor.

With your hands latched onto the collar of his jacket, it was a relief to your aching legs that he was supporting the entirety of your weight. You were able to completely surrender yourself to the kiss, without worrying about the possibility of collapsing. Jack conquered your mouth as ruthlessly as he had seized control over Pandora.

When he finally broke the kiss, you were both breathing hot and heavy, clinging onto each other as your bodies trembled.

"Let me tell you, cupcake; if you didn't look ready to pass out, I would be ripping your clothes off right now," Jack admitted with a breathy laugh. Unprofessional would be a severe understatement, in regard to the subject of having forbidden office sex on top of his desk.

Earlier, the very thought would've repulsed you, but something had been irrevocably altered inside of you after recent events. Perhaps your moral compass was damaged, when you were caught in the path of a detonating Loader Bot…

While Jack still clutched you against his solid body, his other hand was idly toying with a strand of your hair; he was unbothered by the traces of blood. Pouting in deep thought, he mused, "There was a thing I wanted to talk about, but now I can't remember what it was. Any guesses? Really, I'm drawing a blank here."

Things had certainly gone off the rails after a sensual touch ignited the passion you had both been holding back for the sake of professionalism. While your heart hadn't quite calmed to its usual beat, you knew exactly what Jack had been about to reprimand you for before the impromptu make-out session. He would eventually recall your indiscretions, so you sighed and resigned yourself to refreshing his memory. It suddenly made you nervous how much you were currently relying on him to remain upright.

"I think you were about to yell at me for fast-traveling into Overlook during an assault. And you were probably going to strangle me for visiting Sanctuary without permission."

Pursing his lips slightly as he listened, Jack widened his eyes as it all came rushing back to him like a major buzzkill.

"Oh, right, right. I was about to kill you, I think," he muttered, furrowing his brows in deep thought before chuckling. The empty threat still had your body tensing up, which he noticed. "Just kidding, you're too cute. I feel like we've had this conversation before—I _like_ having you around, Y/n."

Well, that was comforting. Even if you were still puzzled as to why he was so fixated on you.

"Seriously, though," Jack continued, "If anybody else pulled that crap, I wouldn't even strangle them. That's wasted energy. Do you know how long it takes to kill someone that way? Not even worth it. They would win a one-way trip out of an airlock; efficient and no messy clean-up. Consider yourself the exception, cupcake. Not everyone gets away with the things you do."

Nonchalantly discussing the most practical way to execute employees who stepped out of line was the best way to kill the mood. The rational voice in your mind could be heard, screaming harsh judgement at you for showing the slightest affection toward a mass-murderer. Being held in his arms had lost its comforting effect. In that instant, you wanted to put as much distance between you as physically possible, disturbed beyond words.

Jack seemed to notice the change in your body language as you leaned back to the furthest extent you were able.

"Was it something I said?" he ventured to ask; the genuine tone of his voice helped his case, but there was no justifying the tendencies he had toward murder.

"You really know how to make a girl feel special, Jack," was your sardonic remark, causing his frown to deepen to the point where his forehead wrinkled.

"Meaning?" he prompted in a drawn-out enunciation.

There was no amount of patience, nor ample supply of crayons, available for you to sit down with him and explain everything that bothered you about his behavior. While you believed everyone was capable of being reformed and redeemed, that was contingent on their complete willingness to change. The crucial first step would be admitting they were wrong, which you were ninety-nine percent certain Jack was incapable of doing. It was a dangerous trap to fall into—attempting to change any man, especially one with such a history of violence and severely damaged psyche.

"Forget it, Jack," you told him with a sigh, managing to wiggle enough from his hold to plant your feet on the floor. Releasing the grip you had on the collar of his jacket, you slid your hands so they were lightly planted on his chest if only to fend off any further advances. "If you don't plan on reprimanding me, or killing me, then I'd like to go take a shower and maybe even sleep, who knows."

The man seemed confused by the conflicting messages you were sending; something you felt guilty over, deciding that it had been a moment of weakness on your part. Jack loosened his arm from around your waist but didn't pull away entirely, resting his hand on the curve of your back.

Before the silence could drag on to the point of being painful, he pretended to shiver and joked, "Brr, I think I felt a draft. What's with the cold shoulder all the sudden, babe?"

Hearing him call you that very specific term of endearment caused you to pull back. Resisting the urge to flee the office like you had before, you had to repair the boundaries that had been dismantled. It was time for you to do the right thing for everyone involved.

"We can't do this…" you stated, unable to ignore how your own heart winced.

Rejection wasn't something Jack handled well.

"Pause there for a second," he told you, holding up his hands in a placating manner. "This is too fast for you, I can tell. None of this was planned, you just surprised me is all. I can dial things down a notch or two, no problem."

Closing your eyes, you prepared for the worst part.

"Jack…you know this classifies as a conflict of interest. What I do, and because of who you are...this can't happen. I don't know what I am to you—a fling, or whatever—but if word gets out, it's going to cause problems for us both."

He stopped you by planting his hands on your shoulders, his brows furrowed intensely. "A fling? You've got it all wrong, Y/n."

"Jack," you pleaded softly, clenching your fists by your sides while avoiding eye contact. Why was he making things so difficult? What was he hoping to accomplish? Was it all part of some plan to comprimise your department? All of these possibilities only worsened the self-disgust you felt.

"I was afraid of this. Y/n, look at me," he implored as his voice took on a strained quality; he was getting emotional, which was heartbreaking for you to watch. His hands grasped your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. "Nobody can touch you when you're with me," he assured, as if the danger was what frightened you. "Don't let what people think stop you from taking what you want."

There was no denying that he made a good argument, but you couldn't be so selfish. Reaching up to grasp his wrists, you were able to slip your face free. Blinking away tears, the next words came out in a pained voice, "I shouldn't have kissed you. I'm sorry."

Speechless, Jack was too stunned by the one-hundred-eighty-degree turn on the situation to grab hold of you again. You hastily moved around him and practically ran from his office, muffling a sob by pressing your hand over your mouth. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

Overcome with the tormented emotions, your body shut down halfway across the Hub of Heroism and you crumpled to the floor.

"Y/n?" you heard, before someone crouched near you and grasped your shoulders.

Panicking for a moment, you thought it was Jack until you recognized the blue hair and amber eyes.

"Henry…" was your pathetic whimper. The entire universe seemed to be self-destructing around you. There was no explaining anything at that point; you had become a sobbing mess of a woman.

Directing an accusing glare toward Jack's office, Henry knew there had to be some connection. Whether or not your friend had the mind to confront him over what happened, you were his first priority. Sweeping you up off the floor, he opted to carry you, knowing that you were incapable of walking a single step in your current state.

Fast-traveling to the living quarters, Henry carried you all the way to your apartment. Despite being a lanky man, he was stronger than he looked. Swiping your employee badge, he unlocked the door. Inside the relative safety of your private quarters, you felt more at ease. Gently setting you down on the sofa, Henry tucked himself in the corner. Managing to shed your jacket, you tossed it to the floor while Henry placed a pillow over his lap. Naturally, you laid your head there, curling up close to the only person who had consistently supported you over the years.

Rather than firing off questions about what he missed, Henry said comforting things like, "You're safe now" and "I'm here, nobody can hurt you". His hand idly petted your head, smoothing out some tangles in your hair. He occasionally wiped away tears, but the flow was constant.

After what seemed like an hour of crying, and Henry soothing you, fatigue won out. Energy depleted, your conscious mind drifted off and you were able to sleep. Henry's presence allowed you to relax enough to get a decent amount of rest.

Waking some hours later, you found yourself huddled on the sofa alone. The stinging of your eyes forced you to close them again. All that crying had irritated them; they were red and puffy, no doubt. Groaning miserably, you slung your arm over them, unwilling to get up just yet.

Running water could be heard, coming from the bathroom. Henry hadn't left; he must've gotten up recently, to shower. Comforted by that, you decided to snooze a little longer. He would wake you up if he had to.

Sure enough, Henry nudged your shoulder. "Y/n," he said softly, knowing he didn't need to raise his voice. You were a pretty light sleeper, as most had to be living anywhere near Pandora.

"I'm up," you grumbled, opening your eyes reluctantly to observe the tall form leaning over you.

Henry had changed into fresh clothes; you both kept clothing in the other's apartment, for the occasional sleepover. His shirt was black, with gold-tinted buttons, while his sleek black pants had similar gold accents. He ruffled his hair with a towel, causing the locks of blue to look like the feathers of a funny-looking bird.

"Nice hair. You should wear it like that more often," you teased, still half-asleep.

"You're making fun of me. Does that mean you're feeling okay?"

Sleep had definitely restored some of your sanity. You sighed, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. Smoothing back your horrid mess of hair, you said, "Yeah, I'm okay."

Henry seemed unsure whether to believe that. "Hungry?" he asked, putting off the conversation that needed to happen sooner or later.

"Breakfast. Pretty please."

Nodding with a smile, Henry turned and headed off into the small kitchen area. Lazing on the sofa, you used the free time to collect your thoughts. Ten minutes later, Henry emerged with two plates of food. He set his down on the coffee table, returning to the kitchen to grab the fresh pot of coffee and two mugs.

Shoveling some eggs into your mouth, you chewed slowly to avoid choking. It had been almost an entire twenty-four-hours since you last ate; the health serum you ingested didn't count as actual food.

Henry settled down next to you, eating his own food quietly. Once you finished, you went for the coffee, preparing it just how you liked it. Gulping down an entire mug full of the stuff, you began to feel somewhat human again. You were still in your filthy clothes from the previous day, which felt gross. You had never longed for a shower more, but you knew Henry wanted to talk.

Swallowing the last bite of his food, Henry took both plates to the kitchen sink. Then he returned to his place beside you. His arm rested on the back of the sofa, behind your head. You nestled against his side, resting your head on his shoulder with a sigh, dreading the subjects that would need to be discussed.

"Y/n…I need to ask you something," Henry finally said, tacitly. "You would tell me if Jack…hurt you, right?"

The way he said "hurt" was rife with implications. He didn't need to be blunt; you could interpret he meant something of a sexually violent nature.

"He didn't," you assured him, lifting your head so he could see the sincerity on your face. "And of course I'd tell you."

Henry averted his eyes for a moment, as he considered your answer. "It's just that I saw you run from his office. You were so upset, I couldn't help but think…"

Grasping the hand he rested on his lap, you squeezed it gently. "It wasn't like that, Henry. Trust me, okay? Jack's an asshole. But I don't think even he would do that."

"How do you know that?" Henry asked, keeping his cool but clearly unsettled by the topic. Heaving a sigh, he squeezed your hand in return. "If you say so, then I'll trust your word on it. I'm just glad you're not dead—everyone thought you were."

"Seriously?" you blurted out, baffled that they had jumped to conclusions so quickly.

Henry locked eyes with you, dead serious. "Y/n, your ECHO-comm went offline. I had no way to contact you. Propaganda was already being written about how you were killed by rebels. They were going to broadcast it. I was on my way to Jack; that's when I saw you."

How enlightening. People were eager to dig your grave, before they even had your corpse to bury. While you reflected on that morbid reality, Henry continued, "There's something else you should know…"

Blinking, you met his amber eyes and regretted it. The sorrow in them told you the news would be devastating.

"Overlook is gone."

"What do you mean?" you asked, shaking your head slowly as you were already in denial. "It can't just be 'gone'."

"It was occupied by Crimson Raiders," Henry pointed out glumly. He anxiously ran a hand through the semi-dry hair draping his forehead. After he collected his thoughts, he looked back at you and explained, "Overlook wasn't protected by a shield, like Sanctuary is. Jack exploited that. Moonshots were fired. It's gone, Y/n…There were no survivors."

Mouth open, a strangled sound of grief escaped before you could stop it. Standing up, you aimlessly walked away from the sofa, as if you could step out of reality to escape the truth.

"No, I was just there," you thought aloud, distraught. Replaying the moments over in your head, you recalled all the carnage and death. While the Crimson Raiders and Hyperion forces were at war, the town had remained relatively in-tact. The locals had been quarantined in their homes. They must've been terrified, cowering indoors as they had been forced to do for months. Recovering from the skull shivers had been hard enough on them. Being caught in the middle of a battle was the last thing they needed...

Running both hands through your hair, you were starting to hyperventilate, on the verge of another mental break. Overlook had their defenses down, because they were under the protection of Hyperion. You were the one who convinced the inhabitants to remain compliant; they hadn't put up any shields, which left them wide open to the moonshots.

"It's my fault," you whimpered, "Oh god..."

Henry was on his feet, enveloping you into a hug. "Don't say that," he chastised, his voice strained. He was trying to keep his own emotions in check, to comfort you. The disdain was clear as he stressed the fact, "Jack gave the orders. The blood is on his hands, not yours."

Clutching at the fabric of his shirt, you fought back sobs. "I'm sorry," you whispered, loathing all the terrible mistakes you had made. The one that pained you most was how Jack used him against you. "I'm a terrible friend..."

"No, I should be apologizing," Henry countered, smoothing his hand over your hair. "You were protecting me. I know how things work around here. Stop blaming yourself for Jack's actions, Y/n."

Sniffling, you nodded and hugged him tighter. He never failed to ease your conscience; whether or not you deserved his forgiveness he never held anything against you. He was your best friend and greatest ally. Reflecting on what you had been through together, you recalled the unpleasant reunion with a certain pair of bounty hunters.

"Rian and Gunner are back," you informed him quietly.

The mention of the pink-haired menace caused an involuntary reaction in Henry. His shoulders tensed and his hand stilled on your back, you could even hear him catch his breath. He certainly had no fond memories of the twins; Rian, specifically, left an impression on him that scarred more than his flesh. "Son of a bitch..." he muttered scornfully. "They were supposed to stay off world."

"Rian shot at me," you mentioned in passing, as that wouldn't come as a shock. For some reason, you felt obligated to add, "Gunner was sweet, though."

"Sure he was," Henry replied cynically. He didn't share the same...understanding with Gunner that you did. "They were in Sanctuary?"

Nodding against his chest, you composed yourself before pulling back to look up into his eyes. "Roland contacted them. He was trying to recruit them, but Gunner wanted no part of it."

Pondering that, Henry looked none too pleased. Wetting his lips, he shared his thoughts, "I have a bad feeling that's not why they're back."

You had the same suspicions, but nothing else to go on. "Any guesses?"

"Knowing them, it has to do with money. Maybe Jack summoned them to get rid of the Vault Hunters."

"Maybe..." you responded distantly, as your mind drifted. There was something else you had neglected to explain to your friend; the matter of Roland asking you to help assassinate Handsome Jack. Withholding those things from him felt wrong, but anything he knew would put his life in danger. You decided to leave that subject untouched for the time being.

"I should shower," you told him, beginning to pull away.

Henry nodded, but caught your arm gently. "We need to call a board meeting," he advised, before adding grimly, "to discuss what happened in Overlook."

He was right, of course. Such a tragedy needed to be addressed, as soon as possible. Swallowing at the lump in your throat, you nodded mutely. Henry let go, allowing you to head toward the bathroom. While you stripped free of the soiled clothing, he was busy calling all the necessary figures to gather for the meeting. Beneath the steaming deluge, you allowed yourself to relax, knowing the next twelve-plus hours of your shift would a nightmare.

Scrubbing the blood—most of which didn't belong to you—from your skin and hair, you forced yourself to detach emotionally. If you started to cry, there was no telling when the tears would stop; nobody would take you seriously if you showed up to the meeting with red, puffy eyes.

With your hair properly washed and body cleansed of all things vile, you begrudgingly turned off the water and wrapped yourself in a towel. Stepping out of the bathroom, you glanced toward the den where Henry was pacing, agitated. He was speaking with someone over his ECHO comm. You would've listened in, but that would be awkward considering you were naked, in a towel.

Quickly ducking into your bedroom, you searched through your wardrobe. A pantsuit would be appropriate for the meeting ahead, so you went for jet-black pants, a matching jacket, and a dark sapphire blouse. After all, you were in mourning. Dressing in record time, you hastily dried your hair and decided to leave it down, having no time to do anything fancy with it. Applying minimal makeup, you slipped on some sophisticated flat shoes before heading back to meet Henry.

"Y/n, we have a problem," Henry said when you came into view, walking over to you.

Frowning, you searched his face for clues. His brow was furrowed, as something deeply troubled him. You had to ask, "What is it?"

He was about to explain, when he glanced down at his watch. "Damn it," he cursed under his breath. "We have no time. The meeting is already in session. Come on."

When he snagged your hand to rush you out, there was no use resisting. You followed him to the door and swiped your badge to unlock it, before taking the lead through the corridor. "Does the problem have a name?" you inquired, since he was offering no hints.

"You're not going to like the answer to that," Henry said, once you reached the fast-travel station. He used his own badge, transporting you both to the appropriate wing where the meeting would be held. It was close to your office, in the same place the anniversary had been celebrated.

"Great," you muttered sarcastically. There was a very short list of names you knew that filled you with dread. It wasn't difficult to guess which one would be making a nuisance of their self at a board meeting.

Pausing at the entrance to the room, you took a breath to compose yourself. Henry placed a hand on your upper back, rubbing lightly to soothe your nerves and remind you he was there for support. Nodding once to him, you let him know you were ready. Then you stepped closer to prompt the door to open. When it did, you were able to see everyone seated around the table. Seven people; six of whom you knew were allies, friends, and colleagues worthy of indisputable trust.

The unwelcome seventh had made it her life's purpose to torment you in every way conceivable in her vindictive little mind.

"Y/n, back from the dead I see. Ladies and gentlemen, please give your warmest greetings to the Head of the Department of Pandoran Relations. Or should I say, _former_ Head."


	10. Chapter Eight

Luciana Pallor radiated self-importance like an empress who had usurped the throne. Her shimmering, silver hair was smoothed back by a regal-looking comb secured like a crown atop her head, exposing her long neck and defined collar-bone. Her elegant beauty was counter-balanced by the haughty arch of her brow and a conceited pout. A businesswoman in her early forties, her heart was devoid of warmth or compassion. Rumors circulated Helios that the unforgiving severity of her stare could turn men to stone. Other break room whispers alleged that she consumed human hearts in order to preserve her everlasting youth.

You weren't inclined to believe such nonsense. Nevertheless, the woman was dreadful; Reginald had been little more than a servant to her whims. In hindsight, you sort of missed the idle threats—he never would've sabotaged the department intentionally, seeing as it boosted his image as a philanthropist. Luciana was the real threat.

The recently-widowed woman was eyeing you in the same manner as a serpent, determining how to go about crushing your bones before consumption.

"Y/n, back from the dead I see," she addressed you with a false smile; it was as if her facial muscles were contorting, unsure how to mimic such a sincere emotion. "Ladies and gentlemen, please give your warmest greetings to the Head of the Department of Pandoran Relations. Or should I say, _former_ Head."

Assembled around the table, the six members of the department's board turned their undivided attention to you. Every single one had been hand-picked by you and Henry, based on their usefulness and genuine passion for humanitarian work.

Janine; a lovely dark-skinned woman who was formerly an accountant, before transferring to work under Henry in the department of Hyperion Intelligence and Resources. Thomas; an average-seeming guy who happened to know a thing or two about pretty much everything, like a personification of the ECHOnet. Bentley; a man born and raised on Elpis, dedicated historian and record-keeper for everything that transpired both aboard Helios and on Pandora. Claudia; a weapons-expert whose extensive knowledge provided insight on the value of tradable goods. Florance; a well-established scholar employed in the Intelligence field, serving as a connection to external sources unaffiliated with Hyperion.

And then there was Joseph; a retired Hyperion Engineer with years of experience on Pandora. Unlike a majority of the gun-toting grunts who would neutralize all bandits on sight, he had shown mercy to several individuals—an act that earned him the unflattering label as a deserter. Failing to comply with direct orders was a criminal offense punishable by execution. Catching wind of that through communication channels, you quickly intervened to stop the unjustified termination of a kindhearted man. Resigning from his position as an Engineer, Joseph traded field work for a tamer desk job. Out of gratitude, he wanted to serve as an adviser of sorts for the Department of Pandoran Relations.

Conscious of your heart pounding, you fought to hold onto your composure. Revealing any weakness to Pallor would only provoke the woman to move in for the kill. Figuratively speaking. Or literally; there was no way to know when it came to her.

"Luciana," you greeted her, moving further into the room while Henry shadowed you. "Thank you for directing this meeting in my absence. I'm here now, so you may step down."

Meeting her calculating stare, you resisted the shiver threatening to rattle your spine. She had the eyes of a reptile. Not literally, but it was unsettling how insincere her emotions were. Despite how you loathed to be anywhere within five miles of the woman, you approached to take your rightful place at the head of the table.

Laughing coldly, Luciana flipped her hair over her shoulder. Directing a look toward the board members as if sharing an inside joke, her lips could have been dripping with venom. Several of them lowered their eyes out of submission or shame. Joseph was the only one who returned her gaze unflinchingly, not intimidated in the least.

"You must have misheard me," she theorized arrogantly, turning her icy glare back to you while she remained seated. "You're the one who will be stepping down. Or you will be removed. It's up to you, doll-face; either way, you're being replaced."

Recalling the comment she had made when you entered the room, it dawned on you that she had been serious. Blinking in disbelief, you shared glances with several members of the board. None of them were speaking up to dismiss Luciana's assertions, which was disconcerting.

"What gives _you_ the authority to decide that?" you challenged the woman, while a warm hand steadied your shoulder.

"I'd like to know the same thing," Henry agreed, narrowing his eyes critically at the older woman. "You have no affiliation with our department. No influence over our funding. No ground to stand on."

"On the contrary, handsome. My late husband left everything to me, including his share in this department. So, I have enough influence to replace whomever I please," she explained, with a haughty tilt of her head and malicious smile.

"That's not how it works," you protested.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Luciana," Henry interjected, having none of it. "You have influence, _not_ absolute power over the department. In order for a new Head to be appointed, there needs to be a willing resignation, or a consensus on her removal."

"Very well," Luciana conceded, crossing her legs before turning to the board. "Bring any and all grievances to the board's attention. Speak now."

Someone cleared their throat. It was Bentley, who timidly lifted his hand. "I'd like to place my vote."

Without bothering to conceal the immense enjoyment she was gleaning from the situation, Luciana folded her hands on the table in anticipation. "Those in favor of removing Y/n from her position, say 'aye'."

"Aye."

Well that stung. How could he deem it fair to kick you out of the department? Ignoring the fact that you were one of its two original founders, you nearly died on numerous occasions protecting assets and defending innocents. All you asked in return was support.

"Bentley," Henry addressed him evenly, while you were unable to utter a word. "Explain yourself, if you feel that strongly."

He seemed guilty for passing such harsh judgement, but unwilling to revoke his vote. Bentley sighed, adjusting the glasses that had slipped down the bridge of his nose. He cautiously met your eyes to explain, "We thought you were killed, Y/n. The propaganda department was going to use that as justification for the moonshots that destroyed Overlook. You _know_ what that would mean for us! Budget cuts, loss of support...we can't _afford_ that. We're already stretched so thin."

"That's not a fair judgement, Ben. She almost died trying to stop that battle, because no one else around here had half the guts to do it," Henry criticized the historian, who lowered his eyes.

"I don't know why we have to explain it," Claudia spoke up, slapping her hand on the table out of frustration. Her no-bullshit attitude caused her to sound harsher than she might've intended. Softening her tone, she pleaded, "Just do the right thing and resign, Y/n. Don't make us do this."

"She acted impulsively," Florance argued with Henry's point. "Putting herself at risk isn't automatically good for us. She should've used better judgement; now we're all in hot water," she stressed, before adding sympathetically, "I'm sorry, Y/n."

Five of the board members were nodding their heads in agreement. All except for the ex-Engineer who had pledged his loyalty to you six months ago.

"Joseph," you implored, knowing the man had something of substance to contribute. He had been quietly listening to the argument, while nervously wringing his hands.

Dark eyes meeting yours, the man attempted to bring some positivity into the conversation. "Y/n, you're one of the bravest people I know. What you've done for the sake of Pandorans has been inspirational. Without you, none of this would've been possible. Hell, I would've been executed if you hadn't stepped in. Please, don't take what has been said here as disrespect or lack of appreciation. We're just...concerned."

That wasn't exactly the defense you had been hoping for. Crestfallen, you asked for clarification, "What does that mean?"

"He's saying you need to reevaluate yourself," Janine clarified for him, the last to speak. "It's a tough position to be in. We get that, honey. Which is why it's better for everyone, yourself included, if you step down. At least temporarily."

In that moment, you understood exactly how Julius Caesar must have felt. These were your colleagues, your friends, and they were going to revoke your leadership. Their words cut deeper than any dagger could; you felt completely gutted. Turning to Henry, you hoped that history wouldn't tragically repeat itself in that respect.

"You're all making a mistake," he declared, loyal until the end. His intelligent amber eyes swept over each of their faces, silently requesting that they reconsider their stances on the matter.

"So we're all in agreement," Luciana spoke, her eyes already gleaming with triumph. "All those in favor of Y/n's removal from her position as Head of the Department of Pandoran Relations, say 'aye'."

"Aye."

"Aye."

"Aye."

"Aye."

"Aye."

Joseph was the last to pass his official judgement. He lowered his eyes to the hands he had folded on the table. Fidgeting with the ring on his finger, he briefly looked up to meet your eyes. Blinking away the moisture threatening to spill, you did your best to remain dignified; the last thing you wanted was for his vote to be swayed by pity. He inhaled, preparing to deliver the vote that would decide your fate.

The bullet that pierced his chest silenced him before he could announce his decision.

Several board members screamed, rising from their seats in a panic. Joseph choked out a cry of pain, clutching the bullet wound as he crumpled to the floor. In shock, you were unable to do anything but stare. Henry had wrapped his arm around your shoulders, shielding you from the shooter. Their identity shouldn't have come as a surprise.

"Hate to interrupt, ladies and gents. But I couldn't help but overhear that big decisions were being made, without me."

While the fearsome dictator brandished his pistol in a casually threatening manner, you rushed over to assist the bleeding Joseph. Dropping to your knees beside him, you inspected the damage. The bullet had pierced just below his clavicle on the left side, narrowly missing his lung; he was still bleeding heavily, which could prove fatal if he didn't receive medical attention. Applying pressure to his wound, you glowered at Jack, but he wasn't looking at you; he was preoccupied with demonstrating the power he had over everyone in the room.

"Well that was unnecessary," Luciana remarked boldly, trying to draw attention to herself. She hadn't moved a muscle during the initial panic; perhaps because cold-blooded reptiles couldn't feel fear. She also had no sympathy whatsoever as she regarded Joseph. "I don't think he was in agreement. Pity; now we'll never know."

Clenching your jaw, it took every ounce of self-control not to scream unfriendly things at her. She referred to Joseph like he was already dead. Henry had remained where you left him, watching everything transpire with wary eyes. One could be fooled into thinking he was indifferent, but he masked his true emotions well.

Meanwhile, Jack advanced on those gathered around the table. He sauntered forward with deliberately slow steps, aiming his pistol at each board member if only to frighten them. Sweeping his mismatched eyes over each and every face, he said, "In case anybody forgot, _I'm_ the one who calls the shots around here. Pun intended."

The five uninjured but petrified board members quickly bowed their heads in submission, with mutters of "Yes, sir".

"Now that we're all on the same page, get your sorry asses back to work," Jack commanded, with a dashing smile that promised painful deaths for those who disobeyed.

"Jack," you spoke in a stern tone, while trying not to berate him in front of everyone. Doing your best to keep the man's blood loss to a minimum, you stressed, "Joseph needs a medic."

Jack peered over the table, eyeing the man he had shot less than a minute ago. "Sure does, cupcake," he confirmed. His devil-may-care attitude about it infuriated you. When your glare intensified, he blinked a few times before a halfway decent thought occurred to him. Snagging hold of Bentley—who had attempted to leave without attracting attention—he suggested, "Be a sweetheart and take him to the infirmary, would ya, kiddo?"

Bentley had stiffened when the hand caught the nape of his neck; he had likely feared he would be the next recipient of a bullet. He nodded meekly at the request and flinched when Jack slapped him on the back, before ushering quickly over to Joseph. You helped the wounded man sit up, while Bentley slung Joseph's arm over his shoulders. It hurt that Bentley wouldn't make eye contact with you. On the way out, Joseph dragged his feet as he looked at you over his shoulder, reluctant to leave after what happened to him.

Mouthing the words _I'll be okay_ , you reassured him enough that he ultimately stopped resisting Bentley. Everyone else had gone, leaving you and Henry alone with the wicked witch and the devil himself.

"Just who in the fuck do you think you are, lady?" Jack questioned Luciana, waving his pistol dangerously. "Give me one reason not to kill you right now. I'll wait. Because I _really_ don't like it when people go behind my back."

"Oh, don't be mean, Jack. I'm just honoring my late husband's memory," she answered with false sincerity, fluttering her eyelashes to feign innocence. Then she expressed her true sentiments, "Thanks for offing him, by the way; the man was such a bore."

"My pleasure," Jack said oh-so-graciously. "But, sorry, I must've missed the part where you gave me a reason not to take this gun, and bash your face in with it."

Assuming a lusty posture, she propped her leg up on the table, while her hand rested idly near her privates. "Because I'm more fun when I'm drunk," she replied in a sexually-suggestive manner, adding slyly, "Unless you forgot."

Appalled by her lewd behavior, you could feel your cheeks burning. Evidently, she and Jack had slept together; something Luciana clearly wanted you to know, as she directed a not-so-subtle sneer your way. Mortified, you averted your eyes, hating how transparent the act was. The older woman smirked maliciously, knowing that she succeeded in her effort to make you uncomfortable.

"Actually I'd rather forget," Jack quipped in a deliberate attempt to spurn Luciana.

Her lusty pout morphed into a scowl. "I like you better drunk, too. You're so cruel sober."

"Stop talking," he groaned in exasperation, lacking the patience to tolerate her voice. "Get lost, Luci. Before I get over the whole 'being merciful' thing."

"Fine. I've had my fun, anyway," Luciana huffed, rising to her feet. Snagging her Bullymong-fur coat, she draped it over her shoulders before directing a piercing, cold stare at you. Drawing her lips back over her bleached white teeth, she said, "Let's get together again, Y/n. Us girls have _so much_ to chat about."

Without another word, she strutted out of the room with an aggressive sway to her hips. When she was out of sight, Jack finally holstered his pistol and seemed to relax somewhat once he could converse openly with you and Henry. "I thought she'd never leave," he remarked. Looking over at Henry, he joked, "Trust me, you don't want any of _that_."

Henry wasn't amused, his expression rigid as stone. You were too distracted by the blood smearing your hands; Joseph hadn't deserved that bullet, even if he was about to vote against you. If he bled to death before Bentley could get him to the infirmary, the loss would be crippling...

"Damn. Tough crowd," Jack muttered, deflating a bit when nobody stroked his ego. "Why the long faces, huh? I just stopped a freakin' mutiny! How about a little gratitude, kiddos."

"Gratitude?" Henry repeated, speaking evenly while unleashing a judgmental glare on Jack. "You shot a man in cold blood. No one has to thank you for that."

"Oh, is that how you feel, pumpkin?" Jack challenged, stepping closer to invade his personal space. He was smirking, but that was far from a good thing. "I think you're just butthurt you didn't have the balls to do it yourself."

"Don't presume to know a thing about me," Henry fired back; he refused to cower like the others had. "I don't need to kill people to feel like a man."

After witnessing a good friend get shot over what he _might_ have said, you caught your breath at Henry's words. Heart pounding, you watched as Jack reached his hand to grasp Henry's tie. He straightened it out before smoothly wrapping it around his fingers, gripping it tightly in his fist. The fabric could easily be used to strangle him.

"Showing off for your girlfriend, huh?" Jack presumed with a deliberate glance in your direction. "That's cute," he commented, without bothering to lower his voice as he added in a menacingly upbeat tone, "How embarrassing would it be if she watched you get your ass kicked by me?"

The idea of two men fighting over you made you nauseous. "Just stop it! Both of you."

Both men looked at you with surprised expressions. Henry was definitely fearing for your life. Jack wasn't shocked that you scolded either of them; he had already established you were basically the only person who could speak to him that way. He merely eyed you with consideration before returning his attention to Henry. Uncurling his hand from the leaner man's tie, he smoothed it out over his chest before clapping both hands down hard onto his shoulders. It was probably meant to make him jump, but Henry endured it without so much as a flinch.

"Why don't you go pass on the good news, kiddo. Y/n has been promoted. She now has absolute authority over the department. It's not a democracy anymore. None of those assholes can remove her from power. Only I can do that. Now, about that gratitude..."

Henry returned his intense stare as bravely as he had before. "Yes, sir," he responded after a tense silence.

"Good. Off you go, kiddo," Jack said, patting his cheek. Henry blinked in annoyance; he surely didn't appreciate the condescension, but knew better than to press his luck.

When he was released, Henry obediently made his way toward the door. He hesitated only to look at you, waiting for any sign that you needed him to stay. Unable to fake a smile, you nodded once so he would know it was okay. Nodding in response, Henry departed, leaving you to deal with the infuriating man named Handsome Jack.

He pivoted to face you, but made no advance as he merely studied you from across the table. Deciding to approach him, you walked around the table and moved to stand in front of him. There was an awkward silence as neither of you knew where to begin. Then his lips moved, preparing to form words. He was about to say something, so it was only fair what happened next.

Your palm struck his cheek with enough force that it caused a sharp pain in your wrist, but watching his head snap to the side was satisfying. Never before had you wanted to hit a person so badly. Once wasn't enough, but you had nowhere near enough energy to deal out the karma he deserved for all the pain and suffering he caused.

Jack had been unprepared for the slap, astonished that you had lashed out physically. What he said previously rang true; no one else would be allowed to live if they struck him, but you were the exception. When he turned his face back, his expression was difficult to place. He wasn't angry with you, but he wasn't smiling either. He seemed transfixed by you, as if marveling at your pure, undiluted fury.

"How could you?"you questioned ferociously. "After what you _did_ —how could you kiss me like that?"

His infamous smirk made an appearance.

"That's not what happened," he argued, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "If I remember correctly, you kissed me, cupcake."

Another slap would have been well-deserved, but he caught your hand that time. Embarrassed that you had lost control over the anger, you averted your eyes.

"Go to hell, Jack," you hissed, wrenching sharply out of his grasp. Backing up a couple steps to put distance between you, it was difficult to even look at him; you were deeply disgusted by his actions. "Those people...they put their faith in me. They cooperated with Hyperion. They trusted you, Jack, because I convinced them...And now they're dead."

When your voice cracked at the end, you turned away, pressing fingers to your lips as they began to tremble. _Not now...not in front of him._ While you were trying not to have another emotional break down, Jack had moved closer. His hands were on your shoulders, gently turning you around to face him. His thumb wiped away the tears streaming down your cheek.

Snatching hold of his hand, you pulled your face away from his touch. "Don't..." you said, more exhausted than angry at that point.

"Overlook was a tragedy, I know that, alright?" he admitted, trying to placate you. "But there's something I need you to understand. The place was crawling with rebels. I sent in some Loaders to deal with the problem, then Angel warned me that you were in the crossfire. When your ECHO comm went offline, she told me you were killed. I'm not very subtle, cupcake, so it should be pretty freaking obvious that I care about you. It was a knee-jerk reaction, I admit that...but none of those bastards deserved to leave Overlook alive. Not after what happened...or, what I _thought_ happened."

Hearing how he rationalized the massacre had your mind reeling to process it. "So...you're telling me, you sacrificed a town full of innocent people, because you thought you were avenging my death?"

Jack blinked a couple times, rethinking things from your perspective. "Well...saying it like that makes it sound bad."

"Because it is bad, Jack."

"Yeah well..." he responded quietly, as he briefly lowered his eyes. His behavior made you wonder if he really felt remorse. Then his eyes narrowed, lifting to peer into yours as he asked, "Do you think Roland wouldn't have done the same thing?"

 _Talk about deflection_. Baffled, you lamely asked, "What?"

"Let me tell you a little story, pumpkin. Once upon a time, Roland and that back-stabbing skank Lilith tried to blow up this space station," he began, making a wide gesture to encompass the entirety of Helios. "Lots of people were on it then. Bad guys, good guys—didn't matter. They wanted to kill _me_ , specifically. They were going to sacrifice every single person on board, just to screw me over. I bet Roland didn't tell you that, when he was giving you the grand tour of Sanctuary."

"I didn't know that," you replied quietly. Folding your arms, you felt defensive at the mention of the brief meeting you had with the commander of the rebellion forces. As the master of manipulation, Jack had managed to switch things around so you were the one in the hot seat.

"What did you two talk about, by the way?" Jack prodded, acting casual while he eyed you with suspicion.

It was in your best interest not to reveal _everything_ , unless you wanted a repeat of what happened when he thought you were a spy. Wording yourself carefully, you said, "He just asked me to be his ally."

"Mhmm," he mused, listening intently as he crossed his arms. An amused smirk played at his lips as he theorized, "I bet he gave you a big speech about _me_ being the bad guy, and how he wants to liberate all the poor, downtrodden savages under my boots. Am I on the money, cupcake?"

"Pretty much."

The whole resistance thing clearly entertained Jack; the confidence he had in himself was unshakable. "And you shot him down, right?"

"It's my job to keep the peace, Jack..." you reminded him, repeating the same thing you told Roland. "Giving my support to any militant forces would violate the oath I took. That goes both ways."

"Good enough for me," he grinned, seeming convinced that you hadn't joined the resistance against him. "I just had to ask. You can't be too careful around here. Like I said, people won't hesitate to betray you if it suits their agenda. Something you just learned the hard way, right?"

The gut-wrenching feeling returned, as you reflected on what just happened. Your anger had served as a temporary distraction from the fact at least five people were opposed to you being in charge. While you didn't approve of how Jack handled the situation, he provided you with much needed security. Luciana would have to try harder if she wanted to dethrone you. As much as you hated to give him credit, being ungrateful wasn't in your nature.

"Thank you, Jack," you told him, meeting his eyes without letting your guard down.

Smiling at your appreciation, he replied smoothly, "Anytime, babe."

The tension in the room had dissipated. With no conflict to focus on, you both lapsed into an awkward silence, uncertain what to say next. Nothing had really changed since your last, uhm...encounter. You had plenty of reservations about dating Jack, and it was obvious he was still pining after you. Dangerous memories began to creep back; his hands roaming over your body, stolen kisses, lustful words...

"I, uhm...I have work to do," you said abruptly, loathing the awkwardness and longing to escape it.

"Why don't you take the day off?" he suggested, perhaps implying something, but you didn't want to imagine what.

"Yeah, why don't I just prove how incompetent I am," you remarked, with an eye-roll to emphasize how ludicrous the suggestion was. "I'll be in my office. Working."

Having no intent on blowing off your responsibilities, you turned and walked out of the room. Jack might have promoted you to have absolute authority over the department, but that didn't mean you had to conduct yourself differently. There were reports to be filed, allies to contact, and statements to deliver. The Department of Pandoran Relations would need to officially condemn the actions of Hyperion, and offer condolences for the tragedy in Overlook.

Half-way down the hall, you spotted the person leaning against the wall next to your office. "Henry?" you called, pausing a few steps short of your friend.

Henry pushed off the wall, while leaving some room between you. Something was bothering him; his brow was furrowed as he fixed you with a discerning stare. The way he was looking at you raised alarms, causing you to feel defensive. Before you could ask what was wrong, he questioned harshly, "You kissed him?"

Confronted with the secret you never intended for him to know, you nearly doubled over. He might as well have punched you in the stomach. He must have overheard your conversation with Jack; how else would he have found out?

"Henry..." was all you could say, unable to explain. When you reached out to touch his arm, he recoiled in the same way he had in Jack's office; it didn't hurt any less the second time.

"Maybe the others were onto something," he said coldly, narrowing his eyes. Eyeing you with what could only be described as disgust, he surmised, "There's something wrong with you."

Mouth open, you were deeply hurt by that. Blinking furiously to clear the wetness that gathered on your lashes, you asked, "How can you say that?"

"The person I know would never kiss Handsome Jack," he stated in a frigid tone. Arms rigid by his sides, he shook his head and looked away. Without even meeting your eyes, he said, "Your secret is safe with me, Y/n...but don't expect me to be okay with it."

Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode off.

"Ouch, babe. Don't feel bad; it's his own fault for eavesdropping. Seriously, that's kind of creepy. Maybe you're better off."

Angrily shrugging off the hand that rested on your shoulder, you fixed Jack with a stern glare.

"He's my friend; he was just watching out for me. And you almost killed him, Jack," you reminded the murderous bastard, still angry over that particular incident. That should have been enough to solidify permanent feelings of hatred toward Jack; the guilt gnawed relentlessly at your insides. Miserably, you whispered, "He'll never forgive me."

"Then it's his loss."

"I have work to do," you declared, excusing yourself from the conversation entirely as you headed for the sanctity of your office. Heaving a sigh as Jack followed, you paused in the doorway to look at him. "What do you want, Jack?"

Leaning his shoulder against the wall next to you, he folded his arms and assumed a casual posture. "Well, the annual company celebration is just around the corner. Everyone is required to show up," he said, lazily pointing his finger in your direction, "which includes you, cupcake."

Knowing exactly where he was going with his proposition, you leveled a hard stare at him. "Seriously?"

"Look, I know you're pissed at me and all, but it would be rude not to ask you to be my date. That promotion just brought you up in the ranks, cupcake. We should be seen together at this thing. It's not a big deal; we're partners, now. Besides, Luciana is up to something. Until I figure out what that scheming bitch wants, the safest place for you is next to me."

Damn it; he was right and both of you knew it. Nervously chewing the inside of your cheek, you left him on edge for a moment before giving your answer. "Fine," you agreed, laying down boundaries when you added, "As partners."

"Fine," he repeated, mimicking your tone and serious expression, before cracking a smirk that confirmed your suspicions. He wasn't discouraged by your stonewalling; he had every intention to continue his pursuit.

"Don't forget to wear a pretty dress," he reminded cheekily, tucking his hands into his pants pockets. The man actually winked at you, before he sauntered off with unhindered confidence.

Internally debating over whether you should be impressed or put off by his persistence, you eagerly sealed the door to your office. Force of habit caused you to side-step the place Reginald had died over a week ago, regretting how you had rejoiced in his passing. Speaking of blood, your hands were covered in Joseph's. There was a small bathroom in the back of your office. As you walked over to the sink, you caught yourself hoping that a certain ex-assassin would uncloak himself and recite an amusing haiku.

So much had transpired in a short time-frame, it was dizzying.

While scrubbing off the blood, you hoped Joseph was recovering in the infirmary. Once you finished cleaning up, the motivation to get things done had drained away. There were many important things to attend to. Against better judgement, you avoided the responsibility waiting at your desk and decided to collapse onto the faithful sofa cushions.

 _"Y/n."_

Eyes flying open, you sat upright on the sofa. The voice had spoken to you multiple times before, but you finally had a name to identify it.

"Angel?" you called in a hushed voice, placing a hand to your forehead as the strange connection caused your temple to throb. A static charge prickled your skin, as the subliminal images of a pretty, young woman once again invaded your conscious mind. However she was able to hack into your ECHO-comm, there was something...supernatural about it.

 _"Good, you can hear me,"_ she responded. _"I'm sorry for what happened in Overlook. Please don't be angry with me..."_

Recalling everything she had said prior to the town's destruction, you wondered just how much influence she had over things. Frigg had testified that the rebels weren't causing trouble; the Hyperion soldiers had showed up out of nowhere, as if they had known what they would find. Suddenly, it made perfect sense.

"It was you...you tipped Jack off about the Crimson Raiders."

 _"Yes,_ " she admitted in her light, innocent-seeming voice. _"He uses me to monitor things on Pandora. I needed to create a distraction, so you could get to Sanctuary. Please understand that I didn't want anyone to get hurt, but it was necessary. Roland had to give you the weapon."_

"Why are you doing all this?" you questioned, puzzled over her unspecified motives. Was she just another A.I. gone rogue, intent on destroying those who ordered her around? Or was there something else to the story?

 _"Just promise me that you'll stop Jack."_

People needed to quit involving you in their schemes. "I can't," you replied in an aggravated voice, sick of being asked to commit murder. "Find someone else to do the dirty work. I can't be part of this."

There was a pause as the artificial intelligence considered your refusal. _"Do what you think is best for Pandora, Y/n. I trust your judgement."_

Angel disconnected then, leaving you alone to lapse into an existential crisis. With your conscience haunted, you recalled a conversation you had over a week ago before everything went to hell in a hand-basket.

 _"I'm not going to let him destroy us, Henry."_

 _"Are we talking about the same person? Destroying things is what Handsome Jack does. And he's the best at it."_

Plenty of people were disappointed in you, but only one of them had been with you since the very beginning. Henry was the person you valued above all others. It tortured you to know that he would never be able to look at you the same way again. Perhaps everyone was right. Destroying things so he could build them back up, bigger and better than ever before; that was Jack's thing. Denial wouldn't change the reality. That first kiss had been the catalyst of your corruption...

Stewing in that revelation, you entertained a thought. Angel claimed to trust your judgement where the safety of Pandora was concerned; preventing unnecessary casualties was your responsibility. Things had drastically changed when Handsome Jack got involved with your department. Despite his iron-fisted methods when it came to governing the planet, and leading the company, he seemed generally enamored with you. If you had that kind of influence over him, perhaps there could be some real progress...

Handsome Jack had met his equal.


	11. Chapter Nine

***Hey there! I'm back! This chapter has been a draft for a while, it took some revising to get the pacing right. There will be more, I promise. Thank you for waiting so patiently. I hope you're all enjoying your summer so far! :) I want to give a special thank you to those who favorite this story, and who check for updates. It makes me happy that people like reading what I write. But enough of my rambling. Enjoy!***

Copious amounts of champagne failed to repel your fear of being approached by the predators circling the room. The annual Hyperion company celebration had reared its ugly head, once again forcing you to mingle with the most deplorable people in the galaxy.

Five years of experience with attending such events taught you that it was best to blend in. Your gown had been purchased several months in advance; a simple black number that flattered your figure, without being too revealing. It was sophisticated, refined, and altogether safe. The vibrant gold and gleaming diamonds of your beloved charm bracelet complimented the gown nicely. Polished black skag-skin shoes—with gold soles and a small lift in the heels—completed your formal attire.

Your hair was pulled back into a smooth ponytail, with your own personal touch; a classic up-do that required minimal effort. Subtle makeup softened your look, in stark contrast to the women who looked almost alien with their painted-on faces.

Handsome Jack had yet to make his grand entrance. You were alone; treading water in a tank overcrowded with ravenous, well-dressed sharks.

"What a shame," someone spoke up from behind, emerging from the murky depths to take the first bite.

Downing the rest of your champagne while resisting the urge to flee, you turned to the man who definitely had ulterior motives. "What is?" you dared to ask, when he paused for dramatic effect.

"To see a stunning woman such as yourself all in your lonesome," he finished. How predictable.

"Not the first time I've been stood up," you responded with a slight slur to your words. The champagne had done its job.

"Forgive me, I'm quite inebriated," the man continued in a courteous manner. "That sounded far better in my head. Allow me to try again. How lovely to make your acquaintance, Y/n. The Head of Pandoran Relations, in the flesh. Be still, my heart."

Squinting at the man, you studied him more closely once he had piqued your interest.

Roughly twenty years old or so, he wore a simple black suit. It was more understated than the overdressed majority whose clothing cost more than your entire paycheck. His eye-catching tie was noteworthy; a black-and-yellow checkered design, with a green stripe and odd patch of diagonal black-and-white stripes on the end. The logo clearly read Torgue. This man was either employed with the rival company, or being paid to advertise them.

"Sorry, but…am I supposed to know you?"

Chuckling, the man shook his head. "No, I don't think anyone here knows who I am. Just a nameless face in the crowd. Which makes this occasion far more enjoyable. No need to concern myself over whom sees me staggering about. Please, forgive my rambling," he said giddily, extending his slim hand for you to shake. "My name is Jerome, but please, call me Jerry. I prefer casual terms. There are far too many uptight suits around here."

The irony of his formal speech patterns, compared to his preference for casual conversation, wasn't lost on you. Smirking, you offered your own hand, which he shook enthusiastically.

"Nice to meet you, Jerry," you greeted in a genuine tone, grateful that he wasn't some creep throwing thinly-veiled threats at you. Not many weapons-manufacturers appreciated your work. Any kind of peace interfered with the profits they made off the perpetual warfare happening on Pandora.

"Y/n, would you mind if I ask you something?"

Shrugging loosely, you said, "Ask away."

Without warning, he snagged hold of your arm. He leaned close as if to kiss your cheek, harshly whispering the inquiry, "Where is the weapon?"

The tone of the conversation had dramatically shifted. Jerry had gone from a blabbering drunk to an interrogator, the lilt in his voice disappearing altogether; it had all been an act, so you would let your guard down. He wasn't a harmless party guest, but an agent whose mission might include killing you.

"Who are you?" you whispered back, remaining calm. It took more than that to rattle you.

"Answer the question and no harm needs to be done," he informed just as coolly. "Where is the weapon, Y/n? I know you acquired it when you were in Sanctuary. It's aboard this station, somewhere. It's not much use in your possession. Unless seducing Handsome Jack is part of the plan?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," you lied.

"Stop playing dumb. It's so undignified for a woman as smart as you," he said with a smile, laughing as if you told him a joke. A few people glanced in your direction before losing interest, seeing nothing amiss. Jerry, if that was even his real name, stopped smiling. His cold glare could freeze over hell itself.

"I don't have any weapons," you asserted, wincing slightly when his grip tightened. Cheekily, you added, "I prefer pens."

Narrowing his eyes, Jerry knew exactly what you were referring to.

Things could have escalated from there, until two figures appeared. A manicured hand with dagger-like fingernails—which were painted Hyperion yellow—rested on your shoulder. Meanwhile, a certain blue-haired man grabbed the Torgue agent roughly by the arm.

"Careful now. I believe this one is spoken for," Luciana warned as her long arm draped around your shoulders. She clutched you into the frame of her much taller, curvaceous body. Her piercing stare could have turned a faint-hearted man to stone, but Jerry seemed to endure it just fine.

All the same, he released the bruising grip he had on your wrist, visibly angry that people were interfering with his mission.

"Better run off with your tail between your legs," Luciana continued in her deceptively sweet tone, resting one hand on her cocked hip, "Unless you want to be the first casualty of the evening?"

Jaw screwed tightly, Jerry refused to back down so easily without getting what he wanted. Henry spun him around to snatch hold of his collar as he growled, "Piss off, and don't let me catch you anywhere near Y/n again, or I might do Jack a favor and strangle you myself."

Staggering as he was shoved by an uncharacteristically aggressive Henry, the Torgue agent caught his balance and lingered a moment. Sharply straightening his collar, he directed a frigid stare your way before stalking off into the crowd. It was just a brief reprieve; you knew he would show up again, sooner or later.

"Oh, Y/n, I envy your talent for making friends everywhere you go," Luciana taunted, keeping her arm coiled around you like a serpent, as she peered down at you with a false smile. It was more than a little uncomfortable being held against her body.

Managing to slip free, you stepped back to reclaim the personal space everyone seemed intent on invading.

Luciana looked like a powerful goddess in her gown. The fabric folded artfully around her curves, draping her hips in a way that left one leg exposed when she moved. An elegant neck plate was quite the statement piece, luminescent gold. Her defined cheekbones were dusted gold, while her silver hair was plated back from her forehead before freely cascading down her exposed back. The charcoal black shadow around her eyes intensified her petrifying gaze.

Henry, on the other hand, looked far more approachable. Vibrant suits were his thing. This time around, it was blue like a deep sea, with gold accents and a shimmering gold tie. He briefly made eye contact with you, before turning to walk off.

"Henry," you called, more than a little hurt. He had been avoiding you for three days, ever since he found out you kissed Jack. He had employed Joseph as his personal courier pigeon, relaying information to you indirectly. It was inefficient, since you were both co-founders and were essentially equals, at least on a personal level.

Detaching yourself from Luciana, you managed to catch up before he could disappear into the crowd. Latching onto his sleeve, you pleaded, "Just wait."

Halting, he was tense but at least seemed to be listening.

"I know you hate my guts right now. And I don't blame you. I'm messed up…" you blurted out, opening up as the alcohol lowered your inhibitions. "There's something you should know—"

"Y/n," he said in a clipped tone.

"Henry, please, just listen, okay? There's _a thing_ …"

"Y/n," he repeated, turning on his heel to fix you with a hard stare. "You're drunk."

That was debatable. You could walk just fine. The blood alcohol level in your body didn't negate the fact he should know there was a conspiracy going on. "Henry…"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed. "Luciana," he called, causing you to blink in astonishment.

Slithering up beside you, the sultry woman snaked her arm around your shoulders again. "Don't worry your handsome little head," she told him, before smiling at you. "I'll keep the rest of those vultures off her."

"Thanks, Luciana. If you would excuse me…"

 _Did he just leave me with a babysitter?_ Offended, you were unable to keep from pouting. Since when was Henry on friendly terms with Luciana? Of course, you understood the need for civility. Being an adult in a professional business setting, one had to at least pretend to like others to survive. Easier said than done.

"Don't even lie," you told her, squirming in her clutches. "You just chased off that Torgue agent because you want to kill me yourself."

Smiling dangerously, Luciana ran her tongue over her prefect teeth while she considered that. "Oh, doll-face. I never get my hands dirty. See that?" she prompted, holding up her claws. "These nails are much too expensive. So I wouldn't risk breaking one, just to tear your throat out."

"Ah."

Being near her made you want to crawl under the nearest table and hide, like a mouse trying to evade the venomous jaws of a viper.

"Really, Y/n, I would much like for us to be friends," she proposed with a radiant smile. "These men just pit us against one another, you know. I think we have a lot in common."

Now that was a concept that never occurred to you. Eyebrow raised, you asked skeptically, "We do?"

"You're a survivor. As am I. Do you think I married Reginald because I loved him?" she questioned with a harsh laugh. "Sometimes we make compromises. Sacrifices. We survive."

Mulling that over, you weren't inclined to feel akin to a woman like Luciana. Still, you were following her point. Cleverly, you ventured to ask, "So it was just a happy accident that Jack killed him?"

Her smile, which seemed somewhat genuine, became a sour pout. "It was bad timing, actually."

Tired of dancing around the subject, you asked, "Why are you really here, Luciana?"

"A better question would be, why the hell are you hanging all over my date?"

Whatever progress you had been making with Luciana was annihilated. A large hand rested on the middle of your back, as the fearsome dictator inserted himself into the conversation.

"Jack," the woman greeted, less than pleased by his sudden arrival. "I was just telling Y/n not to take it personally if your pistol gets jammed. Old junk is unreliable like that."

"Oh, that's cute," he responded, his tone chipper while he was certainly brainstorming ways to end her life in a spectacular fashion. "Why don't you go find another nobody to put a ring on it? I'm sure one of these sorry sons of bitches are drunk enough to think you're hot stuff."

Luciana cocked her hip while scowling at him, but had no snarky retort. Then she glanced in your direction. You were blushing furiously and trying not to laugh at the euphemism she had used.

"Nice chatting with you, Y/n. Remember what I said," she advised, before strutting off and out of sight.

Jack's mismatched eyes were boring into you, expecting a full disclosure of what just happened. Your brain, of course, seemed to short-circuit whenever the man was near.

"Uhm...hey," was all you could muster.

"Hey, pumpkin," he replied, seeming to be in a good mood despite how Luciana tested him. "Working the floor without me, huh?"

 _Oh, he has no idea._ "Yeah, about that—"

"Hold that thought," he interrupted, actually placing a finger to your lips. Flashing a million dollar smile, he said, "It's speech time, baby! How do I look?"

Wearing a suit worth enough to feed the entire population of Pandora, he was the best dressed dictator in history. It was black as dark matter, accented with hints of gold thread and complimented by a Hyperion yellow tie. His hair, which normally had a tousled look from stressful work, was combed neatly back from his forehead. Assuming his famous pose—hands on hips, chest pronounced, and strong chin lifted—he looked…

"Like Handsome Jack," you offered cheekily. Enough said.

His grin widened at what he considered the highest praise. "Thanks, cupcake. Wait here; I've gotta make the whole 'good job, assholes' speech, you know how it goes. Don't miss me too much."

Sauntering off toward the stage, Jack left you to fend for yourself again. Whatever his reasons for being late, he could've at least forewarned you. Then again, he was probably held up at the office overseeing another attack on Pandora. While he supported your efforts to negotiate with and placate the citizens of the chaotic planet, he still preferred to lay down the law hard and fast. The Vault Hunters were causing a lot of trouble for Hyperion. He had no qualms unleashing the big guns to take them out.

Flaunting himself on stage, Jack gave a half-hearted congrats to the employees, followed by a thanks-a-bunch spiel to his loyal supporters. People cheered and applauded him; some out of adoration, others out of fear, and most a combination of both. Fortunately, no one climbed on stage to vomit on his boots, so things were pretty tame compared to previous celebrations.

As entertaining as it was to watch him parade about, you were distracted.

The Torgue agent was still prowling Helios. The Crimson Raiders still expected you to kill Jack. And somehow, for reasons unknown, Angel was orchestrating it all.

Someone needed to know what was going on. If Henry wouldn't listen, you would have to consult with someone else. There were only a handful of people aboard Helios that you trusted...

Loitering near the table of refreshments were the board members. Ever since their failed attempt to unseat you as the Head of the Department of Pandoran Relations, they treated you differently. They resented the fact you were untouchable. Joseph was the only one who still respected you, and he convinced Bentley to ease up. After all, you supported their engagement one-hundred-percent and if anyone dared complain, well…you wouldn't tolerate it.

Joseph and Bentley were color-coordinated. The former rocked a traditional black suit, with a colorful tie. The latter's suit had colorful hues, mimicking rakk-hide. He even swapped the usual black rims of his glasses for orange.

Catching your eye, Joseph waved you over. Bentley, who had just stuffed a finger-sandwich into his mouth, nearly choked when he spotted you. He certainly acted different since the whole power display at the meeting; not hateful, but more bashful, like you intimidated him. That bothered you more than Janine, who glared daggers over her wine glass.

While you approached Joseph and Bentley, you saw Janine leaning closer to Florance and Claudia. Could they make their smack-talking more obvious?

"Hey, there she is! Y/n," Joseph greeted, slinging an arm over your shoulders when you were within reach. He was exuberant; he could finally revile in the open about his engagement. "You look beautiful. Doesn't she, Ben?"

Gulping down his sandwich, Bentley nodded enthusiastically. "Sure does. I'd love to borrow that dress, sometime."

Okay, that made you laugh. "Oh?"

"Did I say that out loud?" Bentley cringed, blushing a bit.

"So, anyway," Joseph said with a joking eye-roll, amused by the idea of his fiancé in a dress. "What's the deal with you and Jack?"

You blanched, caught completely off guard by that question. "Uh…"

"I told him not to ask you that," Bentley groaned, face-palming.

"What? I'm not judging," Joseph amended, turning his face back to you as he eyed your burning cheeks. "We just wanted you to know we've got your back, is all. Forget what was said at that meeting—we were all just shaken up about Overlook. Nothing's changed. We still support you, and trust your judgement."

Bentley nodded in agreement, making you feel a little better. It was astounding how loyal the ex-Engineer was; his words meant a lot, considering Jack shot him for the sake of proving a point.

"Speak for yourself."

Janine appeared, a brilliant vision in her yellow, shimmering gown. To her left was Claudia, who sported a steel-grey pantsuit and a blouse with an elegant train. Slightly behind them, Florance sipped her drink and smoothed the collar of her simple black dress. She seemed uneasy, which you could relate to as Janine invaded your space.

"What an honor, Ambassador. Or do you go by Your Highness these days?"

Oh, you weren't _nearly_ drunk enough for this.

"I don't know what you mean," you said, bristling as you sensed the hostility emanating from the woman.

Janine laughed coldly; she stood so close, she could bite your nose off. "Oh, I think you do," she persisted, folding her arms while her eyes swept head-to-toe over you in a very judgmental manner.

"Lay off, Jan," Joseph told her, gripping your arm with a reassuring squeeze. He was the oldest among the board; the one with the lowest tolerance for bullshit.

"Shut your trap, Joseph," she fired back, before stepping even closer, forcing you to lean back to avoid making contact. "We're talking. One woman to another. Right, Y/n?"

"Look, Janine," you said, hands up to keep her back while doing your best to remain calm. "I'm still Head of the department, thanks to Jack. You can be bitter all you want, but that's how it is."

"Right, Jack," she acknowledged, with a gleam in her eye that foretold trouble. "You know, I thought you were above _that_. Guess I was wrong."

The others were mute, but you could tell what she said made the mood shift. Blinking, you glanced around at them. Joseph frowned disapprovingly at Janine, while Bentley turned his face away as it turned red. Claudia bit her lip, failing to mask her cackle. Florance tossed the rest of her drink back, avoiding eye contact. It was obvious what was just implied about you and Jack.

"W-what? That's not…I didn't…" you stammered, cheeks growing hotter by the second. Curling your fists while Janine smirked, you weren't about to tolerate her insubordination. "I'm your boss! In case you _forgot_."

"Yeah," she challenged, standing almost nose-to-nose with you. "What makes you think I care? You whore yourself out to the biggest warmonger in the galaxy, and you want respect? Nah."

"I…I have to go to the bathroom," you said quickly.

Shrugging free of Joseph's supportive hand, you carefully edged around the aggressive Janine and skirted past an unhelpful Florance. Throwing a glare Claudia's way, she promptly fixed her face, but clearly sided with Janine.

Removing yourself from that situation, you retreated to the bathroom. It was deserted, which meant you could cry in peace. Literally; tears were already streaking your face black with mascara.

"Damn it," you hissed in the mirror, attempting to wipe the mess off but only smearing it further.

Hunching over the sink with a miserable sigh, you felt sick. Paranoia convinced you the whole station believed you were sleeping your way to the top. Nevermind the fact you hadn't formally met Jack until recently...

How could the board members treat you like that, when _you_ were the one doing all the field work? None of them, save Joseph, would have the guts to take your place and risk their asses for the cause. Yet that Janine had the gall to drag your name through the mud! It felt like high school all over again; mean girls and vicious rumors. Death seemed like an okay alternative to reliving that nightmare.

 _"Y/n!"_

Jolting in surprise, you nearly slipped and cracked your skull on the sink. "Angel?" you responded, hand pressed to your forehead. Her strange presence worsened the hangover slowly creeping in.

 _"Y/n, there's no time! You have to warn Jack."_

"Warn…?" you repeated, dumbfounded. Why would she tell you to help Jack in any way, when she was behind a conspiracy to assassinate him?

 _"I can't explain everything right now,"_ she said urgently, _"The 'weapon' is active! Y/n, you can't let it detonate. Jack isn't the only one who's in danger. Helios will go down with him!"_

Confused as you were, you knew better than to ignore anything Angel had to say. Rushing out of the bathroom and back into the crowd, you saw Handsome Jack still basking in the spotlight on stage. He was answering questions and taunting guests like a stand-up comedian. He sure loved attention; even the negative kind.

Adoring fans, all employed by Hyperion, formed a human wall between you and Jack. When they refused to give way, you had no choice but to use force. Pushing through them, you earned several elbows to the face and someone even pulled your hair. _Psychos._

Past the deranged fans, you were close enough that Jack would hear you call his name. Pausing to catch your breath, you prepared to do just that, until you spotted a familiar tie labeled Torgue.

"Handsome Jack!' the agent shouted over the music and the dictator's rambling. "Torgue sends their regards!"

In his hand was the object he had been seeking; the golden pen; a weapon of mass destruction. How had he gotten hold of it? You had locked it away under your bed, in the privacy of your apartment; not the most secure place for a dangerous weapon, but no one else knew where it was. Somehow, he had gained access to your apartment...

 _Wait..._ Feeling the spot on your hip where your employee identification badge should've been clipped on, you mentally kicked yourself for not noticing sooner. The sneaky bastard swiped it from you sometime during the confrontation.

There was no time to warn anyone; you had to act, or people were going to die.

Taken by surprise, the Torgue agent went down easier than you expected as you tackled him to the floor. Awkwardly laying on top of him, you grabbed for the pen, but his arm was longer than yours, keeping the object out of reach. His eyes, wide with shock, narrowed when they settled on your face. Seeing the pure rage of his expression, you pushed yourself up but not quite fast enough. On your knees, you were unable to avoid the right hook he hurled your way.

Burning pain inflamed the side of your face, as his knuckles plowed into your cheek. Face down on the floor, legs still entangled with his, you whimpered a bit. Tasting blood, you grimaced and spit the foul tasting fluid out. That punch was harder than necessary.

"You consider yourself an Ambassador of peace?" the agent spat, grabbing hold of you by the throat. He laughed harshly, eyes wild with murderous intent. Dragging you up with him as he stood, he lifted your heels up off the floor and cut off the little air you managed to get. "No, you're nothing but a _fascist-loving whore_!"

Onlookers shrieked at the sound of a gunshot, which you barely heard as lack of oxygen caused you to nearly black out. You were on the floor suddenly, next to the Torgue agent who knelt, clutching his arm and gritting his teeth. Blood dripped heavily from the wound, pooling on the polished floor; he wouldn't last another minute, as the bullet had severed a major blood vessel.

Choking, you managed to inhale some precious oxygen while looking toward the shooter. A very pissed off Handsome Jack advanced on the downed agent, twirling his pistol as the barrel gave off a tendril of smoke. Standing behind the dying man, he swiftly planted a boot to the back of his head, forcing him to the floor.

"You dumb son of a bitch," he criticized, chuckling a bit; it was never a good sign when he smiled so wide. "If you're gonna try to kill someone, don't freakin' announce it. This is what happens when you do. How does it feel to embarrass yourself, huh? Not so good, I bet."

"Jack," you rasped, weakly sitting up to get his attention. He was gloating over whom he perceived to be a piss-poor assassin, oblivious to the real danger.

It was already too late. Laughing deliriously as he bled out, the Torgue agent lifted his other hand to show the pen had been activated. A red light blinked at the end, ticking off the precious seconds before detonation.

Finding the strength to stand, you launched yourself at the baffled Jack; without a clue what the pen really was, he saw no reason to run. Colliding with his solid chest, you managed to shove him back with enough force that he toppled over and slid across the floor. Meanwhile, you hit the floor on your stomach a few feet shy of him.

Every heartbeat pounded in your ears, as you mentally counted down from ten and hoped that was how long the device was programmed to wait. Your instinct was to crawl as fast as possible away from the explosive device, but the Torgue agent caught your ankle in a death grip.

You had enough time to glance back, glimpsing his manic grin, before time itself seemed to end. Nothing registered in your mind; it was just an abysmal silence.


End file.
